


Whiskey and Cigarettes

by rummy_cat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Cigarettes, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Homophobic Language, Jaimsansan, M/M, Male Homosexuality, One Big Happy Family, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Other, Pop Culture, Recreational Drug Use, SanJaimsa, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Straight author writing gay/bi characters, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mild dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 59
Words: 186,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rummy_cat/pseuds/rummy_cat
Summary: Sandor works private security for the Lannister/Baratheon family. When Sansa Stark and Jaime Lannister enter a marriage of convenience, it thrusts Sansa into Sandor's world in a very nice way. :)A modern day SanSan + Jaimsa and a bit of SanJaimSa (is that a thing?) Fun, funny, with very little angst.See tags for warnings.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Sansa Stark, Jaime Lannister/Original Male Character(s), Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 368
Kudos: 366





	1. Cigarettes and Pretty Toes

**Author's Note:**

> Before you venture into this fic please know that I'm a straight female writing gay/bi male characters. I welcome respectful education on sexuality from my readers, but ultimately this fic is a manifestation of my thoughts, desires, etc. I apologize in advance for any offense I may cause, I can only promise it isn't intentional. Everyone is perfect just the way they are, whatever their kinks (as long as they're between consenting adults).

_Just another fucking Thursday night._

Sandor Clegane looked at the faces around him in the lush penthouse, and knew he needed to outside for a cigarette.

_I’m surrounded by a bunch of skinny-jean-wearing nances strutting around like peacocks._

He knew he sounded like a grumpy old man out of touch with the times, but he cared not. To him, a man should wear a black suit. His fingers should be calloused, not manicured. And he sure as hell shouldn’t wear his girlfriend’s jeans.

But Sandor could grumble all he wanted, none of it would change the fact that he still had six months left on his contract to this little cunt, Joffrey Baratheon – or more accurately the cunt’s mother, Cersei Lannister. He only took comfort in knowing he’d never work under a long-term contract again. The past two and a half years had been an ever-worsening hell.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Protect the little shit when he went out partying at night. With Sandor’s height and facial scars, no one so much as thought about messing with him. It was almost boring, which he was okay with at this point in his life.

Then for some reason the boy grew fond of his bodyguard and would task him with more and more responsibilities. Sandor didn’t complain, it meant more money, and he had nothing better to do with his time. At present he was the boy’s bodyguard, chauffer, and fixer. The first two he could live with, but the last one… that was the reason Sandor now counted down the days until his contract was done.

“Fixing” involved cleaning up the boy’s messes, which got more and more serious as time went on. At 22 he assumed the boy was sewing his wild oats. But today he turned 25 and had only grown more reckless and stupid. He had no interest in working at the family business – ungrateful little shit – but was happy to spend the family’s money.

A month ago it was Sandor’s job to scare the crap out of some kid that Joffrey had beaten up at a night club for doing nothing than defend his girlfriend from Joffrey’s unwanted advances. In truth, the kid would’ve taken Joffrey easily if two of his equally worthless friends hadn’t jumped into the fight.

The month before that he had to bribe a cop who stopped Joffrey for public intoxication on the sidewalk outside a bar.

But the worst was the girls. When Joffrey took things a little too far with one of his ‘dates’ it was Sandor’s job to see the girl home, hand her a wad of cash, and make it very clear that bad things would happen to her and her family if she called the cops or ever came after Joffrey in any way. It sickened Sandor to use his intimidating appearance to frighten them, but it was obviously effective as none had ever come back to make a stink… well, there was one, about three months ago. She apparently went to the cops, but a few days later all charges were dropped. Sandor suspected the cops were in Cersei’s pocket, and didn’t allow himself to wonder if something more violent had been done to convince the girl to let it go.

He imagined that Joffrey went through women the way he went through cigarettes. Enjoyed very briefly then flicked away with not a thought. _And too bloody expensive._ His favorite smokes were now ten bucks a pack. He could easily afford it, but it was the principle of it. People can give themselves diabetes with soda and candy, why shouldn’t they be able to smoke themselves to death affordably if they wanted to?

And that’s exactly what he was doing when _she_ came out to the balcony of the penthouse. She seemed to be looking for solitude as she quietly slid the door shut behind her.

She gasped when her eyes fell on Sandor where he leaned against the wall. He was used to women – and even men – reacting that way to his scars. Though this girl had already seen him a few times; for whatever reason, Joff’s interest in her lasted more than one night. Sandor initially thought she was a cousin or childhood friend, since she was practically living at Joff’s place which was a no-no for all of the boy’s other hookups. But by the third night Sandor saw him frequently wrap an arm around her or let his hand slide too low on her back, both of which seemed to nauseate the girl though she didn’t complain, just tried to put distance between them. Sandor wondered about the nature of their relationship but assumed she was just another girl drawn to Joff’s expensive car like a moth to a flame. Perhaps at 25 the kid finally decided to dip his toe in the fuck-more-than-once pool. She was sinfully pretty, and seemed to have a brain in her head, so Sandor couldn’t fault the boy’s choice even if it strayed from his usual 'type'.

Sandor quickly realized it wasn’t fright that made her gasp. She walked over to him briskly and eyed his cigarette like a steak to a starving man, “Can I _please_ get one of those?”

He pulled the pack out of his pocket and let her pick one out with two slender fingers. He produced his lighter and she cupped her hands around his as he lit the cigarette for her.

After the first drag she sighed and looked to the sky and drew a hand through her copper hair, “Oh thank you kind stranger for reuniting me with my long-lost love!” she looked back at Sandor and smiled.

He hooked his thumb back toward the inside of the penthouse, “You mean it’s not Joffrey?” he feigned shock and she giggled. It was a lovely sound.

“The big mean guy has a sense of humor.”

“It’s a necessity when you’ve got a face like this.”

She laughed again, and it was refreshing that she didn’t try to patronize him by saying something stupid like, ‘oh, your scars aren’t so bad’… he hated that even worse than the people who stared at him like he was a monster.

She leaned against the wall with but a foot of empty space between them. Her proximity was disconcerting. Women didn’t get close to him unless they wanted something. Yet she just stood there, enjoying the cigarette and looking up at the summer sky.

The silence was uncomfortable and he had to break it, “Why aren’t you inside with your man? Aren’t you afraid the vultures are going to steal him away?” She wasn’t the only girl at the party tonight – Sandor had counted another half dozen women – “free twat” Joffrey called the party girls, though the boy wasn’t keeping track of how much he spent on booze, drugs, and hush money. Then again, it was his parents' money, so Sandor supposed it was free twat after all.

“Hah! I’m hoping they will." 

He looked at her, perplexed, “And why would you want that?”

She looked back at him as if the answer should be obvious, “If someone offers to clean your toilet for free, you going to say no?”

_Is she comparing fucking Joffrey to cleaning a toilet?_

But he didn’t ask, he only shook his head, “If someone offers to clean my toilet, I’m not letting them step foot in my house because they’re clearly some sick fuck with a weird toilet fetish.”

The girl laughed out loud, “I’ve seen a lot of sick shit, but never a toilet fetish. Is it weird that I want to Google it and find out if it’s a real thing?”

This time it was Sandor who chuckled, “Not weird. Let me know what you find out.”

The door slid open and a quite drunk Joffrey stumbled outside, “There’s my girl! Sansa, what are you doing out here with my dog? Be careful, he bites!”

She didn’t miss a beat, “So do I.”

“Mmm… I think you’ll need to prove that to me,” Joffrey nuzzled into her hair, only now realizing she was smoking, “Ugh, you know I hate those things.”

She placed a hand on his chest, “And I hate silk shirts on men… see, we all need to make compromises.”

Sandor had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

Blessedly for the girl Joffrey was at the just the right level of drunkenness where he was actually tolerable. Sandor knew it happened sometime after the fifth drink, but by the eighth he’d be a miserable prick, temperamental and violent.

“Fine, fine… come back inside, you know I like how seeing you on my arm makes all my friends envious – and all the girls jealous…”

She nodded, “Let me just finish this and I’ll be in.”

Joffrey grinned and went back inside.

The girl sighed and took two more drags before outing her cigarette under the toe of what Sandor was just noticing were very sexy strappy sandals, or perhaps it was just the toes that were sexy...

She looked up at him, “Thanks for the smoke and the laugh, big guy… Time to go scrub the toilet.”

He snorted and nodded as she disappeared back inside, leaving him feeling just a bit empty.


	2. Repo Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor learns a bit more about Sansa's relationship to the Lannister/Baratheon family.

After driving home some of the girls who were thankfully no worse for wear after the evening’s festivities, Sandor went home and collapsed in bed just before four in the morning. Never having learned to sleep in, he was up again at nine. He worked out, showered, and ate and at noon he was waiting for the elevator up to Joff’s penthouse.

_One hundred and seventy-eight more days until I’m free._ Sandor was trying to do the math of subtracting out his two days off each week – Monday and Tuesday – when the elevator doors opened and none other than Joffrey’s girlfriend – or whatever she was – appeared. She was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt Sandor recognized as Joffrey’s. She also had on sunglasses.

“Hey,” Sandor greeted her. But she either ignored him or didn’t notice him as she stepped out of the elevator and made a bee line for the lobby doors that exited onto the busy street.

Sandor was surprised to enter Joff’s penthouse and find his mother there scolding the boy who wore his trademark bored expression – the one that had made Sandor want to bitch slap him about a thousand times over the years.

Cersei Lannister – she’d never taken her husband’s name of Baratheon – paused momentarily to see who was entering. Reassured when she saw it was only her son’s loyal guard, she continued her angry rant, “You can have any girl in the fucking city _except_ Sansa Stark – are we clear?” She was pacing Joff’s living room in what Sandor knew to be an expensive black jumpsuit and nude pumps.

“No mother, we are _not_ clear. I don’t see why it matters.”

“Do you not know how hard your grandfather worked to broker this deal? How much he had to compromise with that uptight do-gooder Ned Stark – and you’re going to ruin everything!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, mother. He had Ned Stark by the balls, you told me yourself his business was crumbling, he was on the brink of losing everything.”

“That’s all true, but the man still has connections, still had and _has_ influence all over the state and in Washington. He’s respected. And as much as I’m loath to admit it, there are still people who can’t be bought with money.”

“So? None of this means I can’t have fun with Sansa!”

Cersei rubbed her head, “She is not for YOU. All you were supposed to do was show her a nice time… be her host for three weeks until your uncle returns from Europe… I made it abundantly clear she was not to be your plaything! What, have you gone through all the whores and sluts in the city already?”

“She’s not like them, mother! I like her… I can see myself with someone like her.”

Cersei threw her head back, “Gods, what have I done to deserve your wrath? My son finally decides to settle down, but he does so with the _one_ woman in the world who is off limits!”

“What difference does it make whether she goes to Uncle Jaime or to me? Ned Stark won’t care.”

“You are not a Lannister, you’re a Baratheon. You are not your grandfather’s heir, Jaime is! And besides, the optics are important here. It’s not just about bringing the Starks into our family, it’s about people seeing a Stark married to your uncle. That is what will win their support. No one cares if a Stark marries his nephew!”

Sandor’s head was spinning. He knew nothing about what Cersei and her father and brother were scheming, but it seemed pretty clear that Ned Stark had sold his daughter, for all intents and purposes, to Jaime Lannister – Cersei’s twin brother.

Sandor allowed his attention to be drawn once again into the conversation. Joffrey was trying desperately to plead his case to his mother, “I’ve already fucked her – the damage is done, Uncle Jaime won’t want her now.” Sandor felt an odd pang of jealousy.

Cersei leaned toward him and clapped her hands as if trying to train a puppy not to shit in the house, “A: your uncle isn’t marrying her for love, he’s marrying her for politics, I doubt he cares who’s been between her legs, and B: you speak as if you won the girl’s affection when in reality you used your leverage – or rather, your _family’s_ leverage – to coerce her into your bed!”

Sandor felt sick. He assumed Sansa was just another loose woman using her body to gain the favor of a rich moron. After last night her words made him question that, but he certainly would never have guessed that she was here as some sort of modern-day arranged marriage, and even worse – that the nephew of her intended had taken advantage of his power to get the girl in bed. As far as Sandor was concerned, that was rape.

“Where’s the girl?” Sandor’s voice startled both Cersei and Joffrey, who seemed to have forgotten his presence entirely.

Cersei gritted her teeth as if answering him was an inconvenience, “I thought best not to have this conversation in front of her. I told her to go for a walk, get a coffee, whatever the fuck she needs to do to kill an hour. Why?”

Sandor lied, “You’re not worried she’ll run off?”

Cersei scoffed, “Her father needs this deal as much as we do. She’s an obedient little thing, she’ll do her duty…” turning back to Joffrey she arched a brow, “as my idiot son proved last night.”

“Nonetheless, I’m going out to see if I can find her. If she’s upset, she may not think straight.”

Cersei waved a hand, completely unconcerned with Sandor’s comings and goings so long as he protected and cleaned up after her spoiled son.

Sandor had a hunch where the girl would be, and he was right. He found her outside the nearest bodega just around the corner. She had a coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She was leaning against a wall, just as she’d been last night, though in Joffrey’s baggy clothes no one walking by knew how stunningly beautiful she was. She would have blended in with the gray concrete of the building behind her if not for the locks of copper hair that escaped the front of her hood.

“They send you to fetch me?” she asked as he approached.

“No, I, uh… needed cigarettes.”

She turned to face him fully and mouthed “Liar.”

He snorted, “Fine, I didn’t need smokes,” he pulled his half-full pack out of his front pocket and lit one, as if to prove his point, “but they didn’t send me, either. I just… you looked upset when you got off the elevator and I wanted to make sure—"

“That I didn’t decide to step in front of a city bus?”

He laughed, wondering if the girl was always this blunt, “Something like that.”

“My knight in shining Prada. But if you really wanted to save me, you’d have gotten here five minutes sooner and bummed me a smoke before I had to spend ten fucking dollars on a pack of cigarettes!” She said the last part loudly as if hoping the bodega owner would hear, and that he somehow had the authority to lower the price of cigarettes state-wide.

She shook her head, “It’s fucking ridiculous. If I want to kill myself slowly over the course of the next forty years, that’s my fucking business.”

“I know, right?” he was surprised by how passionate his agreement sounded and felt the need to correct himself. “Sorry, the price of cigarettes is kind of my soapbox issue,” he said, only half sarcastically.

She laughed, “Is there room on that soapbox for two?”

He shook his head, “I dunno, I take up a lot of space.” 

“That you do,” she arched her left brow, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was flirting.

“Come on, they must be done arguing by now, let’s go back.”

“Yes, warden,” she mimicked a backwoods accent and Sandor chuckled.

“I’m just the prison guard, girl, the warden is that feisty blond that just booted you out of her son’s apartment.”

“Really? I kind of had her pegged as the executioner…”

“Hah! She’d be flattered that you think so, but no _that_ honor goes to her father.”

“And her brother?”

Sandor tensed at the mention of her _intended_ , “Jaime Lannister is the spin doctor – the pretty face they put up on TV anytime a prisoner dies under _mysterious_ circumstances.”

“And her son?”

“Hmpf, the simple-minded janitor who no one trusts with anything more complicated than mopping piss off the floor.”

She giggled merrily, and Sandor felt oddly proud that he seemed to have brightened her mood.

Just as they were approaching the entrance to Joffrey’s apartment building a red-faced Cersei Lannister was exiting. Without preamble she grabbed Sansa’s arm. Her words were sweet, but her tone was icy, “Come, dear. I’m upgrading your accommodations.”

“What?”

Cersei ignored the girl’s confusion and addressed Sandor, “Clegane – go gather Ms. Stark’s personal belongings from my son’s apartment. Bring them to my brother’s house immediately.”

“I took the train in.”

“Then borrow Joffrey’s Cayenne. Better yet, let’s consider it a repossession, since I own the damn thing. You’ll need something to use for the next two and a half weeks anyway, Jaime doesn’t let _anyone_ drive his cars.”

Sandor was thoroughly confused but Cersei and Sansa had already disappeared behind the dark tint of her town car. Deciding to just follow orders and not worry about the usual Lannister/Baratheon family drama, Sandor rode the elevator and entered the penthouse to find Joffrey in what could only be described as a temper tantrum. Seemingly glad to have his trusted servant to vent his frustration on, he immediately began unloading, “Can you believe my mother? She treats me like a bloody child – what does it matter where I stick my cock?”

“She’s your uncle’s fiancé. Apparently,” Sandor mumbled.

“A marriage of convenience and political benefit. Nothing more! Uncle Jaime will never love her like I do!”

“Boy, no offense, but you’ve known the girl less than a week. You may _think_ you love her, but you don’t.”

“But I do! I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. There’s something different about her. She doesn’t cling to me like other girls do, it’s so… _refreshing_!”

“Aye, she doesn’t cling to you because she doesn’t _want_ you. Love is a two-way street boy. Go back to that girl – the Chinese one – you seemed to like her better than most.”

“I don’t want Stacy! I want Sansa! And she does want me, she just likes playing hard to get.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, working as fast as he could to collect the girl’s belongings in any makeshift containers he could find, “She’s not playing, boy. Just leave the girl be. Your uncle will be home in less than three weeks. You think he’ll take kindly to you sniffing around his _wife_?”

“She shouldn’t be his – he’s too old for her. She should be mine! It’s so unfair, my mother is taking everything, she’s even taken you!”

That finally got Sandor’s full attention, “What do you mean?”

“She said I’ve got to learn to take care of myself, to stay out of trouble and if I do get in trouble to clean up my own mess. She said she needs you to watch over Sansa at Uncle Jaime’s house until he gets home from Europe. She can make all the excuses she wants; I know she’s just doing it to punish me!”

Sandor’s throat went dry. He would be spending the next nineteen days guarding the girl… the one that was as pretty as a sunrise _and_ had a sense of humor _and_ shared his love of cigarettes?

He shook his head, refocusing on the petulant man-child before him, “Well, prove to your mother that you can act like an adult, and maybe she’ll change her mind.” Sandor knew that would not be the case, but just wanted to shut the boy up and get out of here. However awkward nineteen days of living in Jaime Lannister’s house with his bride-to-be would prove, it would be a vacation compared to watching over this little brat.

Sandor was grateful for his long and strong arms as he managed to take two hampers, a shoebox, and a trash bags’ worth of clothes in one trip, snatching the Porsche keys from the entry table on his way out.


	3. Useless Talents

Cersei was speaking to Sandor in the driveway of her brother’s home on Pines Lake, setting clear rules. He had been there all of five minutes – long enough to drop his duffel bag of clothes and personal items in a spare bedroom, before Cersei asked him to walk her to her car.

“I don’t want her wandering around by herself. Best she doesn’t leave the house much at all, but I can’t exactly make her feel like a _prisoner_.”

Sandor noted the irony of Cersei’s words after his earlier conversation with Sansa.

“The most important thing is that Joffrey does not bother her. If he comes here, send him away. If he refuses, call me – better yet, call my father. Oh, and if you do go out with her try not to look so bloody menacing, we don’t need rumors that a Lannister man has kidnapped the poor Stark heiress…”

Sandor didn’t bother to ask how someone like him could _not_ look menacing.

“Here,” Cersei pulled several bills out of her wallet, “it’s nine hundred, all I have on me. Should be enough for takeout, groceries, wine, movie rentals… whatever the fuck she wants, just keep her safe, happy, and occupied, alright? I’ll stop by in a week with more cash… I’ll take her shopping or for a manicure or some shit, whatever sisters-in-law are supposed to do.” She looked at Sandor as if hoping he could confirm whether such behavior was ‘normal’, but he was the last person to ask about normal family dynamics.

He opened the door to her town car, “Thank you, oh – I almost forgot – if you use the pool make sure the solar cover gets put back on it before dusk, and if you use the jacuzzi makes sure it gets covered as well. Jaime’s a bit anal about all that stuff. God forbid a fucking leaf falls in the water, he acts like someone shit in it. Oh, speaking of which, make sure you both keep your shoes off at all times while in the house, and if you spill anything hire a carpet cleaner _immediately_ – a reputable one.”

Sandor nodded and closed the door, watching the second least unlikeable Lannister be driven away to whatever the fuck she did all day. After the car was out of view Sandor entered the front door, thankfully remembering to take his shoes off. He knew Jaime Lannister was a bit of a pretty boy, but he never realized the man had straight-up OCD. He pictured the next nineteen days being him following the girl around with a dustpan and broom and a damp cloth. Might as well put on the maid outfit now.

“Sansa,” he called out. There was no answer. He went upstairs assuming she’d be unpacking her things in the guest bedroom Cersei had assigned her, but all her clothes and belongings were still very un-neatly sitting in the hampers and garbage bag just as Sandor had thrown them in not more than two hours ago. All the other bedrooms and bathrooms were unoccupied as well. Heading back downstairs Sandor found her out on the rear veranda, smoking a cigarette.

“Gods, _please_ do not burn a hole in that fabric.”

“Don’t worry – Cersei already told me how uptight her brother is. I found a dead flower and commandeered its home,” she held up a terra cotta flowerpot.

“Right… so there’s no food since the man of the house has been out of the country. I was going to go to the store, and unless you feel like cooking, bring back some takeout. You want to give me a list?”

“Nah,” she put out her cigarette, “I’ll come with you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

The girl looked at him, “I know it’s not, but what else have I got to do?”

Not five minutes into his new duty and Sandor was already going against Cersei’s instruction to keep the girl home as much as possible, but what was he to do?

“Fine, but I’m not dilly dallying all fucking night in a grocery store.”

She gave him an ironic military salute before bounding up the stairs to change. Sandor figured he ought to do the same – nothing screamed “bodyguard” more than a black on black suit. 

A few minutes later they emerged simultaneously and immediately smirked upon seeing the other. They had each changed into a pair of blue jeans and a white V-neck tee shirt. The only difference being she wore flip-flops while he wore sneakers.

With a huff she closed the door and emerged moments later in a faded green Guinness tee shirt, “You’re welcome,” she huffed as she walked by him.

“You remind me, let’s get some beer while we’re out.”

She rolled her eyes but then looked at him, “Actually, yeah, that’s a good idea.”

An hour later he watched her impulsively add candy bars to the mass of food they had already loaded up on the checkout belt.

“Why don’t you leave some food for the other shoppers?”

She ignored his jab as she perused the aisle. He groaned, “What could you possibly be looking for now?”

“Chapstick. I left mine at Joffrey’s and I’ve been going crazy without it. I swear, if you ever want to torture me, lock me in a room without Chapstick, within twelve hours I’ll tell you my own mother was the real shooter on the grassy knoll.”

Sandor reached into his pocket and made a show of applying his Chapstick, “You’re crazy.”

“Asshole… ah, found it!” she held out a tube of Cherry Chapstick triumphantly before grabbing four more and throwing them on the belt.

“Umm, I think you need to see a professional.”

She giggled, “Well, at least once a week I put one through the washing machine, so I need to stack up.”

“What, you don’t like when your lips taste like laundry detergent?” 

“Well I’m partial to Tide, and Mr. Lannister strikes me as the type that uses some type of dye free, fragrance free, so fucking gentle you can wash your baby with it, detergent.”

“Ah, you mean the kind that make your clothes smell worse than when they went _in_ the washer?”

“The very same,” she nodded. Sandor looked at the couple standing behind them in line, who’d been watching the entire playful exchange. They were looking back and forth between Sandor and Sansa trying to reconcile the odd couple. Sandor had gotten this look before, anytime he escorted one of Joffrey’s conquests back to her apartment. It was the ‘what is _that_ chick doing with _that_ dude?’ look, and he hated it. It made him want to go home and never leave.

Sansa must have picked up on his tension, for she winked at Sandor then turned around to face the couple. She leaned close to the woman as if about to share a secret yet spoke loud enough for everyone at the checkout aisles to hear, “I know what you’re thinking, and yes, _everything_ is in proportion...”

Sandor paid the bill and could not get out of there fast enough, though Sansa seemed content to meander. When they got to the car Sandor opened the hatch and began loading the bags in angrily, “I don’t need you to fucking stick up for me. I’m not some little boy wetting his pants in the school yard.”

“I know you’re not, but those fucking yuppies were being rude, and embarrassing rude people is one of my favorite hobbies. In fact, I hope someone stares at you at the pizza place so I can do it again!”

“What pizza place?”

“I’m in the mood for pizza – that alright with you? I noticed one barely a mile from the house, we can drop off the groceries then go there for dinner. I think they have beer there, too.”

“What the fuck did we just spend $200 on groceries for if you want to eat out?!”

Sansa shrugged, “I like spending Lannister coin.”

Sandor shook his head but knew it was no use arguing, “Fine, whatever, let’s fucking go before the ice cream melts.”

“Wait, wait… here they come…” Sansa nodded in the direction of the couple that had been behind them in line.

“What now? You going to break his knees with the tire iron?”

“Oh hush,” she swatted him, “I just want to see what car they get into. I bet you one Cherry Chapstick it’s a base model Beemer. I’m telling you I can smell yuppies from a mile away.”

Sandor rubbed his eyes and could tell by the girl’s reaction ten seconds later that she’d guessed right.

“Wow, what other superpowers do you have?” he mumbled sarcastically.

“Alright smart ass, tell me what useless talents you have…”

“All my talents are quite useful I’ll have you know.”

Quick as a fox she snatched the keys out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“Nope, I’ll give them back after you tell me a useless talent. Everyone’s got at least a dozen.”

“You realize I can get those keys from you, right?”

“That sounds like a _useful_ talent.”

“Oh come the fuck on, is this what it’s going to be like for the next two and a half weeks? You just going to find different ways to annoy me?”

“You’ve discovered another of my useless talents,” she grinned mischievously.

Sandor rubbed a hand down his face, “Fine, I can move my pecs.”

She leaned forward and her face got very serious, “Tell me the truth: have you ever stood in front of the mirror and done it for no one but yourself?”

“Fuck off.”

She burst out laughing and handed him the keys, “Oh Gods! I’m picturing it and it’s hysterical. You have a really serious look on your face, and you’re making your chest dance.”

“Aye, have your laugh. But in my defense, ‘serious’ is the only face I’ve got.”

A few minutes later they were back at _Chez Lannister_ , as the girl called it. They tag-teamed unloading the groceries. Everything Sandor had picked out was healthy – or relatively so – produce, eggs, oatmeal, peanut butter, plus some meats to cook on the gigantic built-in grill on the patio. Everything Sansa had picked fell into the ‘only in moderation’ category: chips, microwave popcorn, sugary cereals, cookies, candy, frozen pizza, ice cream, and more.

By eight o’clock they were sitting at a high-top table at the pizza place Sansa had found. It was really more of a bar, but Sandor had to admit the pizza was freaking delicious. They split a pitcher of Guinness and a large pie. Sansa was too busy devouring her pizza to notice the looks she got from every man that walked by. First there was open admiration of her figure, then they looked to see her companion – that’s when their faces bore surprise followed by fear, followed by a nod or timid smile that he knew was a plea for their own safety. It was a heady feeling, and not entirely unpleasant.

“I can crack just about every joint in my body,” she spoke out of nowhere.

“Hmm?”

“Useless talents. Though my massage therapist says it’s actually good for you, gets blood circulation in the joints… so maybe it’s not useless.”

“Oh, right,” he answered, distracted.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, but it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“Good, then let’s talk about useless talents.”

“Fine, if you’ll shut up about it then… let’s see… ah, I can curl my tongue.”

“Good one. I can pick things up with my toes.”

“I feel like that could be useful… like if you ever lost all your fingers in a horrible accident.”

“True,” she took a deep sip of beer, “alright, well then let’s agree that we’re talking about talents that are mostly useless; like 99% of the time, useless.”

“Right, ok. I, um, I’m freakishly good at throwing nickels into milk jugs, you know, like you do at fairs?”

“Ugh, I’m so jealous! I don’t think I’ve ever won one of those games! Though I did once get a ping pong ball into a fishbowl. Only useful if you want a pet goldfish, which I don’t.”

“Aye. Can’t pet a fish. Never understood the appeal.”

She nodded but continued listing her useless talents, “I can say the alphabet backwards, like, as easily as I can say it normal.”

“Prove it.”

She did.

“No one can tell when I’m drunk,” he shrugged.

“Me neither! Well, to a point, but when I get to that point I just throw up, I don’t stumble or slur my words or anything.”

“Me neither, I can even walk in a straight line like the cops do to test you.”

“Ooh, I should practice that next time I’m drunk.”

He nodded, “You should, got me out of a borderline DUI once.”

“So did saying the alphabet backwards once, for me.”

He laughed at that, and immediately pictured the pretty girl impressing some naïve young officer with her linguistic abilities.

The evening progressed as such, and after their second pitcher of beer Sandor looked at his watch and noticed it was already 11:30. Three and a half hours had gone by like nothing in the girl’s easy company. As if reading his mind she spoke, “Shall we get a six pack to go and smoke cigarettes in Jaime Lannister’s veranda?”

And they did just that, enjoying the view of the moonlight reflecting off the lake and the star-filled sky, less obstructed by the lights of the city.

“It is beautiful out here, I’ll say that much,” Sansa said wistfully after a time.

“You looking forward to the day when all this is yours?”

He could feel the girl tense even from where she sat several feet away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s alright. I suppose there’s no benefit to denying the inevitable. Just much nicer to pretend it won’t happen.”

“And it will? Happen, I mean… I mean, it really is inevitable?” _Gods, you sound like a fucking moron._

“To quote my new drinking buddy, ‘ _Aye’,_ it’ll happen.”

“So, what happened? If you don’t mind my asking…”

“Oh it’s quite simple really, my father’s business is on the brink of bankruptcy, he’s completely over-leveraged, he owes money to at least a dozen “friends” with no way to pay any of them back… so he made a deal with the devil.”

“Tywin Lannister?”

“The one and only. My father may not have money, but he has lots of friends – none of whom know about his financial problems, at least not the full extent. In exchange for a significant cash infusion, which will effectively put Tywin Lannister in control of the business that’s been in Stark hands for three generations, my father will endorse Jaime Lannister’s run for Congress. And by endorse, I mean he will publicly announce his support of Jaime Lannister and convince all of his equally influential friends to do the same. It all but assures Jaime the victory, assuming some major scandal doesn’t come out.”

“Hmpf, like that Jaime Lannister is a closeted homosexual?”

“Bingo! And that’s, of course, where I come in.”

“By being the living proof that he prefers the fairer sex?”

“Yes. It’s not enough to have some random woman on his arm, they want him wedded before the campaign, to a _respectable_ young lady from a _respectable_ family,” her tone was acerbic, “We will be caught up in a whirlwind romance, fall madly in love, and elope. The backstory was supposed to be that I was a friend of Joffrey’s – Jaime and I would meet at a family dinner in a few weeks and hit it off... I can only imagine what story Tywin and Cersei are cooking up now that I’ve moved into Jaime’s house without him being here… probably something about how I needed a place to stay and Jaime’s house wasn’t being used so he allowed me to stay there while he's away.”

“Right, and you need a live-in bodyguard for what exactly?”

“Hah! Good question. Let’s see, I have an obsessed ex-boyfriend. He’s been stalking me. Cersei didn’t want her dear son to get caught up, so she sent his friend away with his bodyguard.”

“Hmpf, sounds like you’d make a good spin doctor yourself there, Mrs. Lannister.”

“First of all, thank you for recognizing another of my many talents, and second of all, if you ever call me Mrs. Lannister again, I’m going to bludgeon you to death with this flowerpot-slash-ash-tray.”

Sandor chuckled and raised his hands in supplication, “Stand down, I’m unarmed.”

“Yeah, and still just as dangerous, I imagine.”

A silence stretched between them as Sandor wondered whether she meant it was an insult or compliment. He decided on the latter, since she didn’t seem the least bit threatened by him, surprisingly.

“So that’s it then? Your family traded you to be Jaime Lannister’s beard?”

“Beard would assume he’s gay. They’re just rumors… by most accounts he’s the most eligible bachelor in the tri-state area. But no, it wasn’t just for that. There isn’t much trust between my father and Tywin Lannister. This is a show of faith, as my father called it – I call it insurance. Tywin will own my father’s company, but I’ll be in a position to go all Lorena Bobbitt on his son should they ever try to sell the business out from under my dad. Likewise, I’ll be under Jaime’s thumb should my father ever decide he no longer wishes to support Jaime’s political aspirations. If my father behaves like a good little boy, he’ll be rewarded by seeing his someday grandchild heir to the Lannister fortune – or Jaime’s share, at least, which should be sizeable. Cersei already married into wealth in Robert Baratheon, and everyone knows Tywin despises his youngest son.”

“The dwarf? Aye, I never see him around.”

“No one does. He’s a hermit, apparently. His father gave him enough money to live the rest of his life comfortably so long as he doesn’t try to reconnect with the family.”

“Must be nice.”

“Yeah, anyway…”


	4. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a bit of a meltdown.

The next five days were comfortable enough for the pair. They spent the days lazing around, watching TV, playing cards, reading books, and swimming, which was a blissful torture for Sandor who found himself rubbing off in the shower each morning to prevent himself from having a tentpole every time he saw Sansa in a bikini.

But by nightfall they both felt a little stir crazy, so it became something of a tradition to walk down to the bar, share a pitcher or two of beer, and eat. Man could the girl eat. Sandor was a large man with an appetite to match, but the girl could put him to shame with her appetite for wings, nachos, fries, and pizza.

Each night they exchanged stories. Sansa spoke of her childhood and college years, which were mostly pleasant until her father decided to trade her to the Lannisters. Sandor told her stories about crazy shit he’d seen during his time in the personal protection industry. He even shared a couple war stories from his time in Afghanistan. Only the funny ones though; no one needed to know how fucked up things could get over there. It was during one of these stories that Sansa asked what was only a logical question, “Is that when you got burned – while you were deployed?”

The question made Sandor freeze. In the past when people were brave enough to ask about his scars, he always had the same answer: “fuck off”. But he didn’t want to say that to her. Then again, he also didn’t want to tell her the truth. He settled for something in between, “No. That happened before. A long time ago.”

She nodded, clearly sensing he was unwilling to discuss the topic further.

She munched on the celery that came with her wings, “You know, when I was eight my uncle’s dog bit me… right here,” she pointed at her jaw and Sandor leaned closer. Indeed there was a faint scar there. “It doesn’t look like much now – but it took many years for the scar to fade. As a kid, I didn’t think much of it after the initial pain wore off and the stitches came out. It didn’t even occur to me that the scar was ugly. All I knew was that I flinched whenever I heard a dog bark…”

“Anyway, it happened over the summer, while we were at my uncle’s place in Maine. But when I went back to school with my brand-new kicks and my hot pink Trapper-Keeper, I strutted into Woodrow Wilson Elementary School expecting to be hot shit. I noticed a few kids whispering about me, figured they were admiring my ‘do,” Sansa fluffed up her hair. “It wasn’t until later when the class bully – Marcus Honeycutt – started calling me Scarface, that I realized the kids weren’t whispering about my awesomeness, they were making fun of me.”

Sandor could tell she wasn’t trying to gain pity, and he waited on tenterhooks for the conclusion of her story. When she seemed to leave it that, he had to ask, “What’s your point?”

She looked at him as if about to let him in on a deep secret, yet her voice was casual when she spoke, “That kids are assholes. Adults are assholes. People are just _assholes,_ man.”

He nodded, though wondered if she counted him among the assholes. Then, involuntarily, words fell out of his mouth, “The flinching is the worst.”

“Huh?”

“Flinching when you heard a dog bark. I still fucking flinch when I light a grill, or a fireplace. I’m surprised I can even light a fucking cigarette.”

“But you do. That’s all that matters.”

Apparently, it was karaoke night, and some preppy fuckers that looked like they came straight out of a J. Crew catalog were embarrassing themselves. Sandor immediately wanted to beat the shit out of them, but the girl had a different reaction. She leaned closer so she could hear her over the Pina Colada song, “I love watching drunk guys embarrass themselves. Drunk girls, too, for that matter.”

Sandor snorted and decided to watch the performance through her eyes. It was easier not to want to kill these polo-wearing pretty-faced blokes when he knew she was looking at them for nothing other than comical relief.

With a mischievous look in her eyes she turned back to Sandor, “Wanna get shit faced and then give each other field sobriety tests?”

In truth, he hated getting shit faced. His job was to be alert and in control at all times, and he didn’t like anything that inhibited his reflexes or judgment. But the girl somehow brought out the part of him that wanted to enjoy life instead of observing it from a corner. Looking around at the preppies and yuppies filling this upper-crusty bar, he decided the threat was minimal. Even three sheets to the wind he could take on a whole Land Rover full of these fuckers and barely break a sweat. He stood up and took the girl by the arm, “Just as long as you don’t get mad when I win.”

“Oh it’s on, big guy. Wait, you have like a hundred pounds on me…”

“Already making excuses… I thought you were better than that, Stark.”

“And I thought you would be the type to insist on a fair fight, but no problem, if you get a thrill out of out-drinking a petite woman…”

“Fine. Four shots for you, six for me. Fair?”

“Fair,” she nodded proudly.

“Good. Now pick your poison.”

“I’m preferable to whiskey, but I’ll settle for anything that’s not tequila.”

Sandor leaned in conspiratorially, “I fucking _hate_ tequila.”

“I know, right? Who the hell thinks that shit tastes good?”

“I dunno, probably the same people who like Sambuca.”

“Ugh,” she faked a gag, “I’d rather drink windshield fluid.”

The bartender approached them, “Ten shots of Jameson, good sir!” Sansa spoke with a flourish.

The man eyed them suspiciously.

“Fear not,” Sansa assured him, “we’ll be leaving right afterwards, and we are not driving.”

He shook his head but lined up the shots.

Sansa held up her first shot glass in a toast, “To a clean competition. May the best woman win.”

They downed the shots, split a beer to chase them, paid their bill, and were on their way.

At this hour there was no one on the road, so they each took a side and walked on the white line. Sansa kept looking over to check on Sandor, and each time she did she mis-stepped and cursed.

“Girl, keep your eyes on your own line or else you’re going to take a tumble, and I’m in no mood to carry your broken ass home.”

They both did an admirable job of keeping to their respective lines, and Sansa had Sandor in stitches when she recited the alphabet backwards, only getting mixed up by the K-J-I-H part. Sandor tried it and was pitiful. They were nearly home when a blue Audi pulled over near Sansa. Sandor was immediately alert but waited a moment to see if it was just someone asking for directions.

The passenger window rolled down and he heard a male voice, “Hey honey, you shouldn’t be out walking by yourself at this hour; get in, we’ll give you a ride.”

“I’m not by myself.”

Sandor started approaching slowly, but the occupants of the car didn’t see him as they were all looking at Sansa.

“You sure look like you are, come on sweetheart, we’re on our way to a party… come with us, we’ll have a good time.”

“No thanks.”

“Come on, we’re not going to bite. Don’t you like to party?”

“She said no, now be on your way,” Sandor’s gravelly voice made the passenger jump.

“S-sorry man, I thought she was alone. Was just trying to help.”

“Bet you were, now move along to your party.”

“Sure… sorry, dude.”

They sped off.

Sansa looked at him, “Wow, you are handy to have around, aren’t you?”

Sandor shrugged, “One of the few benefits of looking like this.”

She grinned widely, “My knight in shining… Levi’s.”

“What can I say, scaring off frat boys, rescuing fair maidens… all in a day’s w—”

He was cut off by the unexpected sensation of Sansa’s lips pressed against his. His heart beat rapidly, and his stomach fluttered. Her arms were snaked up and around his neck, and after a moment’s hesitation he wrapped his around her narrow waist. A million thoughts went through his brain. That she was his charge, not his girlfriend. That she was set to marry his boss’s brother. But most disturbingly, that she was only kissing him because she was drunk. With that thought he pushed her away gently, “I think that’s the Jameson talking.”

“Nope, just me.”

She didn’t seem _that_ drunk, but he had just watched her down two and a half beers and four shots.

“I… I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why?” she backed away, seemingly insulted.

“Because you’re drunk, and my job is to protect you, not take advantage of you.”

“I’m buzzed, I’ll admit… maybe even a bit more than buzzed, but I’m not so drunk that I’d kiss a man who I wouldn’t otherwise want to kiss.”

“So you say…” he rolled his eyes.

She began walking, “Fuck you.”

“Hey! Don’t get mad because I’m trying to do the right thing!”

She ignored him as she walked down the long driveway.

“Sansa, will you stop for a minute?”

“Just leave me alone.”

“What the fuck did I do?”

“I said leave me alone!”

He unlocked the front door and she didn’t bother taking her shoes off. She strode straight through the foyer and the large living room and through the sliding doors onto the veranda. She continued right up to the lake and for a moment Sandor thought she was going to walk right into the water, but she stopped at the water’s edge and lit a cigarette instead.

“What the fuck is wrong?” he asked, a bit too harshly.

She turned around and he saw eyes that were filled with both tears and rage, “Everything!”

“Mmm. I take it this is about more than me pulling away from your kiss?”

“In two weeks I’ll be engaged to a man I’ve never met, is it such a crime to want to enjoy myself for my last days of freedom?”

“Ah, so that’s what I am? A last hoorah. Your private version of a bachelorette party…”

She looked up at him stunned but he continued, feeling his own ire building at the idea of being used, “I’d have thought you got that out of your system with Joffrey.”

The next thing he knew his left cheek was stinging. She had smacked him… hard.

“Fuck you!” she spat.

“You said that already.”

“Yeah, and it’s still not enough. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…”

“Don’t you want to mix it up?”

“You know nothing about what happened with Joffrey, that fucking prick.”

He knew she was right and instantly felt like an asshole, but he was so thrown off by this whole situation he didn’t know what to think or say. He was unaccustomed to a woman being upset by his rejection.

“Look, I’m sorry… I said that because I was mad, alright? Look it shouldn’t be such a surprise, but I don’t have pretty girls kissing me every day. When it does happen, they’re usually after something.”

“It’s called a cock.”

He huffed, “ _No_ , it’s usually because they see me driving Joffrey’s car and assume it’s mine. Or because they see me with him and his fucking entourage of douche bags and think I’m one of them.”

“Whatever, it’s fine. Will you just leave me to wallow in self-pity? I think I’ve earned that much.”

“Wallowing in self-pity, eh? You know, that’s one of my many useless talents.”

“Hmpf, well I guess we have all the makings of a nice little pity party, don’t we?”

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so wound up?”

She shook her head and for several long seconds he thought she would ignore him, “Everything’s just so fucked up, and I’ve been doing a pretty good job of ignoring it, but every once in a while, I’m reminded how fucked up everything is… and then it just fucking _sucks_ … and I know I sound like a spoiled brat, ‘oh poor me I have to marry a handsome rich guy, live in his big beautiful lakefront house’ – I know how it sounds, but…”

“Fuck that; you’re being forced to marry someone you don’t even know. Doesn’t matter how rich or handsome he is, it’s a shite situation; it’s not ungrateful for you to recognize it for what it is.”

Her eyes softened a bit after his words of understanding but then the anger was back, “That’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the way my family is treating me since my father made the announcement. Most of my siblings won’t even speak to me… it’s like they’re already distancing themselves. My sister Arya basically told me I’m no worse than a two-bit hooker. My older brother Robb is acting like I’m marrying the devil incarnate. My younger brothers were nice enough about it, but even they are keeping their distance. I feel like a bloody fool for expecting some kind of ‘atta girl’ or ‘way to take one for the team, Sansa’. Instead they act like I’m a fucking traitor. I spent weeks trying to figure it out… best I can figure is they know the situation sucks, and they don’t want to be party to it – like by accepting the situation or even thanking me for it they’re endorsing my marriage into one of the most hated families in the Northeast. I’ll soon be daughter-in-law to Tywin Lannister, who profits off of other’s misfortunes – a modern-day robber baron.”

“Hmpf, fucking hypocrites, sounds to me. They’ll benefit from this _deal_ your father has brokered but turn their back on the person making it all possible with her own sacrifice.”

“Even my father barely talks to me, but I know in his case he’s too ashamed to look at me. He blames himself for all the company’s failings – and believe me, it’s largely deserved – but still, I’d rather have my father, imperfect as he is, than not have him at all. My mother is mad at him and acts like I’m an enabler. She wants him to just walk away. She said it doesn’t matter as long as we’re all together, we can live in a trailer park, get jobs at Walmart, but that’s easy for her to say from her porch in Montauk…”

“So fuck ‘em, sounds like they don’t deserve your sacrifice. You went to college, right?”

“Yeah…”

“You’ve worked?”

“Yeah, made good fucking money, too. Pharmaceutical sales rep, but I put in my notice two weeks before I left home to come here.”

“So, get another job. Get an apartment, let your family deal with their own problems,” he didn’t realize how much he wanted her _not_ to marry Jaime Lannister until those words came out of his mouth.

“I’ve considered that, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“My great-grandfather came over from Ireland, started the company with fifty bucks he had saved up working as a night janitor. It’s a billion-dollar company, but it’s still a _family_ company. My parents both work there; so do two of my siblings, my uncle. My dad knows the names of every full timer they have. They care about their employees, their customers. They take pride in their work, and that’s so rare nowadays. My great-grandfather did something amazing, then his son made it even more amazing. I grew up listening to my grandfather tell stories about the company, about the people… I can’t watch it just disappear – I just can’t.”

“I get it… I mean, I think I do. No one in my family ever did anything for me to be proud of – quite the opposite, actually, but I can imagine that if they had I’d have a hard time watching it go under.”

She nodded, “And I had come to terms with it, I was comfortable with my decision, but then…”

“Then what?”

Even in the moonlight he could tell she was blushing.

“You.”

“Me what?”

“I fucking like you, man. I mean I keep finding myself thinking this guy’s funny, and clever, and good-hearted, and sexy as fuck… and he drinks Guinness, and smokes cigarettes, and knows how to dress, and knows how to handle himself… and he’s honest, and doesn’t sugar-coat things… and when I’m with you I forget about what’s waiting for me in a couple weeks, and I find myself thinking, ‘I could see myself with him, I wonder if he feels the same’ – and then as soon as I have the thought I remember how it can’t fucking work, and it makes me wonder all over again why I’m doing this, and if I’ll regret it someday. If someday the family legacy won’t matter.”

Sandor was positively speechless. He had spent the past few days thinking this girl was bloody perfect. Funny, smart, gorgeous, kind but tough… and here she was confessing she felt the same way about him. But it didn’t matter, because she was promised to someone else…

He knew he should walk away. He knew taking this any further would only lead to more pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to move even an inch away from her. He wanted her – no, _needed_ her – on an almost primal level. He wanted to taste and smell her, hold her, kiss her… he needed to know her before it was too late, even if it would be the death of him.

He closed the gap between them carefully, as if afraid to spook her. She was still looking out over the water when he placed one hand on her hip and used the other to pull her hair away from her neck. It was soft even though tangled by the breeze. Feeling his fingers on her neck she turned her head halfway just as he was lowering his lips to kiss right below her ear.

“Me too,” he growled.

“You too what?”

“I feel the same way.”

She turned to face him, seemingly searching his eyes for sincerity, “Sandor—”

“Quiet, girl. My life’s been a damned train wreck up to this point, and it’ll go back to being a train wreck after I have to watch you marry that golden-haired prick. Let me have two fucking weeks of something good. You’re so bloody perfect, girl, a man might be able to live his whole life on the memory of two weeks with you.”

This time when she kissed him, he didn’t stop her.


	5. Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime meets his wife-to-be

Jaime Lannister wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bed and sleep for the next day or so. After spending the last ten hours on a plane, not to mention the car rides to and from the airports, he was exhausted. He’d never been able to do more than doze for a few minutes on flights, and the lack of sleep was catching up to him now.

He knew his bride-to-be was staying at his house, thanks to his idiot nephew being completely useless, but had hoped that she might be out shopping or doing whatever it was she did at three o’clock on Wednesday afternoons. Thus, when the car service dropped him off at his home, he was disappointed to see Joffrey’s Porsche SUV parked in the driveway. _Guess I’ll just have to get this over with._

It’s not that he was entirely dreading this arrangement. In fact, he hoped that, as a marriage of convenience rather than love, it might actually prove to suit him. There were certainly benefits to having a wife, and they extended beyond the bedroom, it was just that he had never wanted to be tied down. His appetites were too great and too varied.

Yet he accepted the fact that marriage to Sansa Stark was the price of being delivered his political aspirations on a silver platter. Whether she agreed to his terms or not, they would be wed within the next month… but if he could convince her that the terms were in their _mutual_ best interest, perhaps everyone would win. Thus he spent much of the ten-hour flight on his tablet typing out what he thought were terms that would benefit him and also appeal to his young bride.

He had been in no rush to get home, having departed two days ahead of schedule due to a cancelled meeting, so he swung by the fitness center to quickly shower, shave, and brush his teeth while his driver waited outside. First impressions were important, and he didn’t want to meet her smelling like the recycled air of a commercial plane. He also stopped at a roadside flower stand and picked out a lovely bouquet. Back in the car, he re-read the list of proposed marital terms one more time. He was too much of a perfectionist to ever be completely satisfied, but he felt this was as close as his over-tired brain could get. Minor amendments could be made later.

Entering his foyer, his ears were immediately met by the unmistakable sounds of heterosexual coitus – a woman’s high-pitched pants and a man’s throaty grunts. It was coming from the first guest bedroom upstairs on the right. The door was wide open.

“What the hell?” he mumbled to himself. His brain scrambled to make sense of the situation. Was _Joffrey_ here with Sansa? Perhaps it wasn’t Sansa at all – perhaps she was letting some friends crash there – and that was **_not_** acceptable… this was Jaime’s sanctuary, not a frat house.

He crept upstairs ready to surprise the unsuspecting couple, but as he peeked in the room, he could not have been more shocked.

He immediately recognized the dark hair and broad back of Joffrey’s guard dog, Sandor. He knew the man had been assigned by Cersei to keep an eye on the girl and make sure she was comfortable… it would seem he took his job _very_ seriously, for Jaime knew the mane of red hair splayed out on the pillow could belong to none other than Sansa herself.

_Well this is interesting…_

Neither love bird could see Jaime as he leaned against the door frame, taking in all the very erotic sights and sounds. The girl’s long, milky white legs were locked around Sandor’s narrow hips. His left hand was planted on the bed next to her head while the other was gripping possessively into her fleshy right hip. Her staccato cries matched the rhythm of his thrusts as he pounded into her mercilessly. His back glistened with the evidence of his effort. The man was all rippling muscle from his shoulders to calves.

“Oh Gods, fuck… Sandor… please, oh _fuck_!!” the girl was coming undone and listening to her had Jaime hard as a rock in no time.

“Fuck girl… Gods what you fucking do to me.”

“Please, fuck, Sandor… faster, _pleeeeease.”_

He obeyed her command, fucking into her at a blistering pace, “You going to come for me girl? Go on, let me feel that grip of yours… I want to feel you milk every fucking drop out of me.”

His crude words put her over the edge as she screamed out her climax.

“Fuck, Sansa… Gods you’re fucking beautiful when you come, you know that? … Fuck, fuck…” Sandor plowed into her with a few more frantic thrusts before grunting into her hair and finally stilling.

They stayed there for some time, gasping for air, exchanging a few kisses, before he rolled onto his back, one arm under his head. Eyes closed in bliss, neither saw Jaime, so he was free to enjoy the view for a few more moments. The girl’s tits were nothing short of amazing – not too big, not too small, perfectly symmetrical, topped with nipples the color of dusty pink roses. Full hips tapered into a narrow waist. She had just the right amount of meat on her bones – something to squeeze in all the places a man liked to squeeze, but nothing in excess.

By contrast, the spent man lying next to her could have been the inspiration for a Grecian warrior statue. His chest and shoulders were broad, arms, neck, abdomen, and legs were corded with muscle even as he laid completely relaxed. With his head dropping to one side his facial scars were hidden, and for the first time Jaime could appreciate that he would not have been unattractive if not for the ruin on the left side of his face. His features were too large to be considered classically handsome, but _ruggedly handsome_ …? The phrase seemed to apply. Of course, the most impressive thing about him was what lay against his lower belly. Even semi-hard it almost reached his navel and had the girth to match.

It was time for Jaime to announce his presence, and he couldn’t wait to see their reactions…

“Honey, I’m home,” Jaime spoke as he approached the bed.

Both snapped up, Sansa immediately clutching the sheet to her chest while Sandor used a pillow to cover his manhood.

“Sansa Stark, I presume?” Jaime extended his right hand to her, but she was too mortified to shake it as she hid her eyes behind her hand.

The guard dog growled, “You’re home early, Lannister.”

“I am, and glad for it too, that was quite a display. Any chance I can get in on round two?”

“Oh Gods,” Sansa mumbled, still hiding her eyes.

“So you keep saying…”

“Oh Gods!” she exclaimed before dropping back on the bed and pulling the sheet over her head.

It was fucking adorable, and Jaime sniggered as he took a seat in the nearby armchair, “So, how’s things?” he asked Sandor casually.

“Cut the shit, Lannister.”

“I mean it – I haven’t spoken to Cersei or my father in over a week. Any big news?”

“Well let’s see, Cersei’s a ballbuster, Joffrey’s a cunt… so no, nothing _new_.”

“Hah! No bullshit ever came out of your mouth, did it? Is that what my fiancé finds so endearing?”

Sansa’s muffled voice sounded pleading from beneath the covers, “Can you both leave so I can climb out the window and never come back?”

“Oh come now darling, it’s not _that_ bad,” Jaime couldn’t help but enjoy prolonging her torture, “besides, where would you go?”

“I’d hitch a ride with the first person who stops… with any luck, he’ll be a serial killer.”

“Hah! My father didn’t tell me you were funny.”

“One must possess a sense of humor to recognize humor.”

“Ah, I see you’ve met him.”

“Once.”

“Well, once is enough. Actually, it’s more than enough.”

During the entire exchange Sandor was staring daggers at Jaime.

“Sansa, are you ready to come out yet? I might need you to call off your dog,” Jaime winked at the man, who was not the least bit amused.

She lowered the sheet just enough to peep at Jaime.

“Hello again!” he said brightly.

She blushed crimson but summoned her courage, “Look, please don’t be mad at Sandor. He just did his job. I’m the one who kissed him first.”

“Don’t need you sticking up for me, girl. I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do,” the large man grumbled.

Jaime waved a hand, “I can’t blame either of you for your impulses. You’re young, attractive people sharing a house for more than two weeks. Frankly, if you _hadn’t_ done something, I’d be worried that I’m soon to be married to a prude.”

“So… you’re not mad?”

“I’m not _thrilled_ , but we’re not married yet, nor are we technically engaged. I haven’t exactly been a monk during my time in Europe.”

The girl looked surprised, “What did you do in Europe?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Isn’t it a bit soon to be jealous, you little hypocrite?”

She pouted defiantly, “I’m not! Just that it might make me feel better...”

“In a ‘two wrongs make a right’ kind of way? I like the way you think, dear.”

Sandor’s thin patience had finally run out, “Can we stop having this fucking conversation while we’re both naked?! Let us get dressed and we’ll talk downstairs, for fuck’s sake!”

“Fair enough,” Jaime hopped up with more energy than he should have. He felt something of a second wind, “I’ll be in the kitchen fixing myself some coffee.”

…

When the couple walked into the kitchen ten minutes later, Jaime looked up from where he sat at the table to see one was scowling and one was blushing. Sansa noticed the flowers immediately.

“They’re for you,” Jaime nodded at the bouquet.

“Oh Gods!” she buried her face in both hands.

“Please, as adorable as you are when you’re blushing, it’s becoming painful to watch. I meant what I said upstairs; I’d hardly expect you to be faithful to someone you’d never met. Now please sit down, we have much to discuss.”

“I’ll go,” Sandor looked as defeated as a man could look.

“I’d prefer you stay,” Jaime spoke.

Sandor and Sansa exchanged puzzled looks.

“I know I’m fired, Lannister… so if that’s all you have to say…”

“On the contrary, I’d like to hire you. It seems Cersei no longer wishes for Joffrey to have a full-time babysitter. I’m frequently away on business, and if all goes well with the election, I’ll be spending much of my time in the capital. I’d feel better knowing my wife is well protected while I’m away. I’ll be a Congressman and a wealthy one, at that… my wife would demand quite a ransom.”

Sandor rubbed the back of his neck, “And the man you want protecting your wife while you’re out of town is the one who just fucked her senseless?”

Sansa blushed once again at his choice of words.

“Not just while I’m away; I’d consider it a live-in position, if that is acceptable, of course.”

Sandor eyed him suspiciously before arching his good eyebrow and stating his hypothesis, “You one of those weirdos who gets off on watching other men fuck your wife, that it?”

“I can’t say, I’ve never had a wife, but if the sample I just got is any indication, then yes – I think I may be one of those _weirdos._ ”

“Is this a dream?” Sansa turned to Sandor, “Can you please pinch me?”

“After I pinch myself,” he rolled his eyes.

Jaime smiled and slid his tablet over to Sansa, who had taken a seat to avoid passing out from embarassment, by the look of it, “This may shed some light on things. Read it, let me know what you think.” Jaime rose again, pouring himself a cup of the coffee that was now brewed and grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl that one of his house guests had clearly stocked.

He returned to the table and watched Sansa’s eyes scan back and forth over the tablet as Sandor did the same over her shoulder. Jaime noticed their body language, and it was clear that whatever was between them was more than just sex. Sandor's left hand was on the table, his right on the back of her chair. Her left hand instinctively sought his but stopped an inch short, likely out of respect for Jaime. Sandor extended his thumb just enough to stroke it against her pinky, a small but quite meaningful gesture. Jaime felt himself smiling and hid it behind his mug of French roast.

> **Proposed marital terms:**

  1. Appearance is everything. Under no circumstances will either spouse’s grievances be aired publicly, including social media platforms. Neither spouse will act or speak in a way that could potentially damage the other’s reputation.
  2. Mutual trust is paramount. Neither spouse shall lie or withhold the truth about the following: his/her financial assets, investments, business/political plans, whereabouts, companions.
  3. Wife will be available, within reason, to attend any events with husband and will conduct herself appropriately at such events.
  4. Wife shall make herself available to husband in the marital bed. Wife has the right to set an upper limit on the number of copulations per month (cannot be < 4).
  5. Wife shall not act to prevent or terminate a pregnancy without husband’s consent.
  6. Any male children will be named by husband; female children will be named by wife.
  7. Wife will have unrestricted access to husband’s liquid financial assets. Husband reserves the right to set a limit in the future.
  8. Husband has the right to maintain a residence in any city where he spends more than 20% of his time for reasons of employment. Wife will have knowledge of and access to any/all residences.
  9. Husband and wife each have the right to (1) seven-night vacation per year without the other spouse, as long as spouse is fully aware of destination, accommodations, itinerary, and traveling companion(s), if any.
  10. Extramarital affairs are not grounds for divorce so long as the following terms are abided by: 
    1. Affairs must be conducted with the utmost discretion; partner(s) must agree to strict nondisclosure agreements
    2. Partner(s) must be cleared of any sexually transmitted diseases
    3. Spouse must be made aware of the identity of any partner(s)
    4. No offspring be produced



Sansa finished reading but was too stunned to speak. Jaime took her hands gently and looked into her eyes, “Sansa, let me be frank. This marriage is one of political and financial motives – we both know that. It is truly my hope that over time we grow to respect, care for, and maybe even love one another. But I fear that a restrictive marriage that throws two people together will be doomed from the start. Selfishly, I prefer _not_ to close myself off of the opportunity for future happiness in the event that you and I prove to be… incompatible. Nor would I wish that for you.”

“This,” Sansa tapped her finger on the tablet, “doesn’t look like an insurance policy on your happiness… it looks like you want permission to fuck as many women as you want while we’re married. What, were you hoping I’d agree to that in exchange for being allowed to continue seeing Sandor? Is that why you were so unbothered by finding us in bed? He is _one_ person… this contract says partners _plural_ , as if you already plan to sleep with any number of women.”

“That is not my intent, and I’m willing to amend this to specify a limit to the number of partners in a given year, or at any given time – however you’d prefer.”

“I’d _prefer_ not to marry a satyromaniac!”

“A what?” Jaime blinked.

Sansa rolled her eyes, “The male version of a nymphomaniac… a ‘Don Juan’, in less clinical terms.”

“I assure you that does not apply to me.”

“I’ve known you all of a half hour. Your assurances mean little.”

“Need I remind you that you’re the one who was fucking someone when I came home?”

“You already said that didn’t bother you, so you can’t use it for your argument now…”

He grinned proudly, “Have you ever considered a career in law?”

She continued, “Don’t change the subject. And anyway, I’m talking about _after_ we marry. I’m not sure I can spend the rest of my life laying in bed late at night wondering where you are, and who you’re inside…”

“You won’t have to wonder. I plan to have said encounters here, under this roof. At least until such a time as we have children old enough to know it’s not normal for daddy to have sleepovers.”

“Oh, so I have to _listen_ to you fucking other women down the hall? Why didn’t you say so?” her anger was starting to show by the color in her cheeks.

Jaime felt his hackles rising too; he was expecting this conversation to go much differently. Perhaps he was naïve, but he thought ‘where do I sign?’ would be the first words out of her mouth after reading the proposed terms. “I must say, I’m quite surprised you’re having this reaction.”

“You’re surprised I don’t like the idea of my future husband having written permission to fuck multiple women each year?”

“And what if they’re not women?!” he shouted. It shut her up, and even earned him a reaction from Sandor, who’d been still and quiet for the past several minutes.

She finally summoned words, “You… you’re…”

_“Gay?”_

She bit her lip and nodded.

“I prefer to think of myself as sexually fluid, but I suppose society would call me ‘gay’, yes,” he felt his cheeks redden, and didn’t like feeling ashamed of his proclivities.

“So that is the happiness you don’t want to deny yourself for a lifetime…” she said with compassion that was surprising given her earlier ire.

“Yes. Though to be honest I do enjoy indulging in women, too… though I suspect you’ll be enough of that for me.”

Sandor finally spoke, and his innocent curiosity was rather endearing, “I don’t understand… how can you like… you know, _men…_ but also like women? I’m not a homophobe, I get being gay, obviously I get being straight, but _both_? Wouldn’t you prefer one over the other?”

“I do. I lean toward men, but women are… well, I’m sure you understand, there’s just something about women. They’re soft, inviting… the female form is a beautiful thing, all graceful curves, long eyelashes, soft fingers, pretty toes, cherry lips…”

Sandor lifted his shoulders, “Aye, so why men then? Isn’t it easier to just choose women?”

“It’s not a _choice…_ ”

The big man rolled his eyes, “You know that’s not what I meant. I just mean, if you like them both anyway, just pick the one that’s more convenient… more socially acceptable.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Then explain it.”

Jaime huffed, “Fine. What’s your favorite food? I mean the thing that would be your last meal if you were on death row, forget about whether it’s good for you or not.”

“Easy. Porterhouse steak, medium-rare, with a baked potato.”

“Perfect. Now if they were all out of steaks, what would you order?”

“Bacon cheeseburger, medium.”

“Gods, you are a man’s man, aren’t you? I can see why our lady-in-common likes you… Anyway, forget about death row now. I’m going to offer you, Sandor, two choices: one, you have to eat Porterhouse steak as your only meal for the rest of your life – 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year, for as long as you live. Option two, you eat Porterhouse steak six days a week, but on the seventh you get to eat a bacon cheeseburger. Now, which would you pick?”

Sandor nodded with a look of supplication, “Option two.”

“Exactly.”

Sansa scrunched her nose, “So, I’m the bacon cheeseburger?”

Jaime chuckled, “To a man like me you are, to a man like Sandor you’re the Porterhouse. And don’t get me wrong, on that seventh day when I eat the cheeseburger, I’m not disappointed. I don’t wish it was a steak, I devour that cheeseburger like a man starved.”

Sansa nodded, “I understand… I don’t want to be the reason you feel deprived, or like you’re going against your nature… but this is a lot to take in.”

“Of course… let’s make this simple: do you agree to all the other terms?”

Sansa re-read the list, “More or less, might do some wordsmithing, but they’re all quite reasonable and mutually-beneficial.”

“Good. Then take some time to think about #10, talk it over with your man. I’m beat and rather jet lagged. How about you decide by tomorrow? We can talk it over at breakfast.”

She nodded and watched Jaime walk up the stairs before looking at Sandor, “Am I crazy to even consider this?” her eyes were pleading him to offer some clarity.

He ran a hand through his hair as his eyes went wide, “I don’t fucking know, but it sounds to me like if you try to lock him down, so to speak, he’s only going to do it behind your back. At least this is a way that you’ll know what he’s doing, who he’s doing it with, and you’re free to do the same.”

She looked to the ceiling and exhaled, “Alright, I’m just going to be fucking blunt right now. My first reaction, well, once I got over the whole WTF of it, was that this is perfect. Sandor, the past two weeks have been…”

“Fucking wonderful,” he said hopefully.

She beamed at him, “Exactly. The idea of never seeing you again, never being with you, it was more than I could bear. These terms are like my prayers being answered. But I also realize…” she bit her lip nervously.

“What?”

“That it might be difficult for you. When I’m with him, I mean.”

“Aye, not exactly something I look forward to, but oddly enough it’s easier knowing he’s a fag.”

“Sandor!” she scolded.

“What? That’s what he is, isn’t he?”

“Say ‘gay’.”

“Fine… he’s _gay_ … and for some reason that makes it less likely that I’m going to throw him out a window.”

“So, are you saying I should do it, and that you’ll stick around? You’ll take the job he’s offering you so no one will ever wonder why we’re together so much, or why you live here?” she looked at him frightened yet hopeful, and it made his heart race.

Sandor sighed, not believing the words that came out of his mouth, “Sansa, I’ve spent the last two weeks thinking of ways I could continue seeing you after you’re married. Places we could secretly meet, excuses you could use… it never even crossed my mind that I’d be stopped by you being married. The only thing I feared was the prospect of never seeing you again. So like you said… this is like my prayers are being answered. Never once have the Gods given me anything good, I’m not about to throw it away like some ungrateful cunt. I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this, but yes, I’m in…”


	6. Dysfunctional Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Sansa get to know each other a bit more.

The next two weeks were a blur. Jaime was busy with work but had to put in enough time with Sansa to sell the ‘whirlwind romance’ cover story. That included a few dates, which Sandor obviously didn’t join, and one very uncomfortable family dinner in the private room of an upscale Italian restaurant near Tywin Lannister’s house. Jaime and Sansa arrived together and found Tywin there along with Cersei and her three children – Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. Cersei’s husband was conspicuously absent though no one commented so Sansa wondered if that was normal.

Sansa sat to the left of Myrcella, who was a senior at NYU but seemed rather innocent for her age. On Sansa’s left sat Jaime, then his father Tywin. Tywin and Jaime spent most of the night talking business and politics, Sansa ignoring the thinly veiled references to bribery and political favors. Joffrey, who sat across from Sansa, spent the night vacillating between insulting her and trying to win her favor. An occasional glare from his grandfather would silence him, but a few minutes later he’d be back at it.

Sansa was sick from having to face Joffrey again. The last night she’d spent at his penthouse had been humiliating and frightening. He’d been drooling over her since the moment they met, being way too touchy and acting as if they were a couple when the backstory was that they were friends from childhood. She endured his advances but did nothing to encourage them. But he only got worse as he graduated from touching her back or leg to actually kissing her. Should any other guy kiss her or even touch her without her consent she’d have no problem kneeing him in the balls or breaking his nose with the butt of her hand, but the whole situation had taken Sansa out of her element. She knew her father was depending on this deal with the Lannisters, and she also knew Cersei Lannister was a lioness when it came to protecting her kids and family. Sansa was afraid that angering Joffrey could jeopardize the deal, while simultaneously fearing that giving him what he wanted could have the same result. She chose a middle ground – let him have his touches and kisses, but don’t let it get past 2nd base. She had felt like a thirteen-year-old for even thinking in those terms, but she was in unchartered territory and needed to set a boundary for her own dignity if nothing else.

But the last night before Cersei moved her into Jaime’s house was nothing short of scary. Joffrey had been clinging to her all night – she only got a break while she smoked a cigarette with Sandor for five minutes. Everyone else left sometime around 3 AM, leaving her and Joffrey alone. Sansa quickly changed into her least attractive pajamas and went to bed; she didn’t even bother brushing her teeth or washing her face, she just needed to be away from Joffrey, because he was fall-down drunk.

But before she could close her bedroom door Joffrey followed her in and grabbed her, kissing her roughly and sloppily, his breath wreaking of tequila. She tried to pull away, but he held her neck in both hands. He finally let her go so she could pull back from his kiss, but his hands immediately went to her waist, trying to pull down her pants. His forcefulness finally frightened her enough to fight back, first with her words – begging Joffrey to stop – but when that was ineffective, she slapped him as hard as she dared. His mouth fell open as he clutched a hand to his cheek. Once his inebriated brain realized she’d slapped him he returned the favor, slapping her hard on her left cheek before pulling her against him again. Though not much taller than her, he still had a man’s strength and she quickly realized she could not stop him from taking what he wanted.

Just as she was starting to steel herself for what was coming Joff took a step back and swallowed a gag. She realized he was fighting back the urge to puke out the copious amount of alcohol he’d consumed that night. Instead he passed out on her bed. For a few minutes she stood there, afraid any movement or noise would wake him. Finally she ran across the hall to his bedroom and locked the door, only then realizing her hands were shaking. She sat on the bed and cried, realizing how close she came to being assaulted, and fearing what would happen when he woke.

Eventually she cried herself to sleep and woke up when the sun was blinding her eyes. Her head was throbbing and she desperately wanted to go back to sleep until the events of the prior night – really just a few hours ago – flooded back into her mind.

She dared not enter her bedroom where Joff still slept. Instead she changed into a pair of his baggy sweatpants and sweatshirt – trying to make herself as unattractive as possible – and made her way to the kitchen. She was shocked to find the oven clock showing 11:29 am. She’d slept seven hours, but it felt like barely three. She needed coffee, and a cigarette, and maybe some hair of the dog that bit her, but when she yanked open the front door to head down to the corner bodega Cersei Lannister was standing on the other side.

For a moment the women stood there staring at each other. Cersei was impeccably put together in a dark Chanel jumpsuit, nude pumps, rose gold hoops, and her hair in a high pony. Cersei almost gagged as she took in Sansa’s appearance, and despite the horrible night she’d had Sansa was embarrassed under the older woman’s scrutiny.

Eventually Cersei’s eyes made it up to Sansa’s face, and her softened ever so slightly, “You’ve been crying.”

Sansa had to clear her throat to speak, “Just a late night and one too many highballs.”

Cersei scowled, “Don’t lie to me – and _highballs?_ I thought you were twenty-eight, not seventy-eight.”

Sansa didn’t know what to say. _I was crying because your son tried to rape me, and would have succeeded if he’d had just one fewer drink?_

Cersei seemed to read her mind as she shouted for Joffrey, her shrill voice like an ice pick at Sansa’s temple. Sansa rubbed her eyes as Cersei walked past her. A few seconds later Sansa heard Cersei ripping her son a new asshole and asking why he was in Sansa’s bed instead of his own.

Twenty minutes later Joffrey emerged from the hot shower his mother practically threw him into and sat on the couch, smiling at Sansa when he wasn’t scowling at his mother. For several minutes Cersei ranted, directing her rage at Joffrey though occasionally insinuating that Sansa should know better. Sansa would have defended herself if she weren’t busy battling a headache, rummaging through her purse for ibuprofen, and wondering why the fuck Joffrey was smiling at her like a lovesick fool. That’s when the realization hit her – _he woke up in my room, in my bed… he thinks we had sex last night._

Before Sansa’s hungover brain could formulate the words to explain that they hadn’t slept together and that, if they had, it would _not_ have been consensual, she realized Cersei was politely telling her to make herself scarce for an hour. She met the woman’s eyes – they were surprisingly understanding and maternal in that moment and Sansa’s poorly formed defense died on her tongue. Cersei seemed to know that whatever happened wasn’t Sansa’s doing, and that would have to be enough, as Sansa didn’t want to linger another minute while her body screamed for caffeine and nicotine.

As she took the elevator down to the lobby, she put on her sunglasses to hide what she knew, based on Cersei’s reaction, were red-rimmed bloodshot eyes. She kept her head down and practically ran out of the building, having an irrational fear that Joffrey may have followed her instead of suffering through his mother’s tongue lashing.

Fifteen minutes later she was sipping a coffee and smoking a cigarette. The three ibuprofen in her system were kicking in, and her headache had downgraded to a dull throb when the second-to-last person she wanted to see approached, looking all dark and mysterious and hot-in-a-dangerous-kind-of-way in his black on black suit and aviator sunglasses. And here she stood looking like the Unabomber…

Sansa was yanked back to reality when Jaime took her hand, and she realized based on his sympathetic eyes and Tywin and Cersei’s barely hidden anger that Joffrey had made another unsavory comment.

Whatever Joffrey had said must have been bad enough that even Tywin Lannister must have felt sorry for her, as he tried to engage her in conversation, “So how have you enjoyed staying at Jaime’s place, Sansa? It’s got quite a view, don’t you think?”

Sansa felt herself blush as she conjured the _view_ she’d been seeing the past two weeks – Sandor in his swim trunks by the pool, Sandor giving her a shy smile across a table full of pub food, Sandor walking naked to the shower after working up a sweat fucking her with his fingers, tongue, and cock…

_Fuck, get your mind out of the gutter._

“The view is breathtaking, Mr. Lannister. The whole place is great, it’s obvious your son has great taste.”

Joffrey snorted, earning himself another of Tywin’s scowls.

When the night was finally over and Jaime drove them home in his ‘84 Aston Martin, Sansa finally exhaled. She didn’t mean for it to sound like a huff, but Jaime lifted her hand to his lips, “I’m sorry you had to endure that. My family is a bit… intense.”

Her hand stayed on his over the gearshift, “Sorry… it’s not them, truly… I was stuck in my head tonight. Sorry I wasn’t much of a conversationalist. But for what it’s worth, I actually like Cersei once you get past her resting murderous bitch face. And Tommen and Myrcella are really sweet. Your father’s not so bad either, at least he has manners even if he’s a bit…”

“Dead inside?”

Sansa chuckled, “I was going to say aloof, but that works, too.”

Jaime smiled and seemed to hesitate before continuing, “I notice Joffrey isn’t on the list of my family members that you like… or tolerate…”

Sansa shrugged, “He’s not too bad… when he’s sober.”

“And when he’s not sober?” Sansa didn’t immediately answer, and Jaime looked like he regretted asking but then blurted out a question, “Look… I don’t need details, and if you don’t want to talk about it at all that’s fine, but what happened? When Cersei called to ask if you could stay at my place, she said Joffrey was being a fucking prick, but that’s nothing new. She seemed to imply that you guys… well…”

Sansa looked out the window. In the handful of interactions she’d had with Jaime she noticed he sometimes blurted things out before thinking. His words were never cruel, so it wasn’t the worst habit. She wondered if he had a bit of ADD mixed in with his mild case of OCD.

He shook his head, “I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s alright Jaime. What you’re imagining is probably worse than what actually happened… he just got a bit _forceful_ one night. Wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer kinda thing. But then he passed out drunk in my bed, so I slept in his bedroom. I think your sister assumed something more happened and maybe had an idea that it wasn’t entirely my choice, but—”

She noticed his jaw clenching, “I’m so sorry, Sansa. I knew he was a bit of a playboy, but I thought every encounter was… mutual.”

She shrugged, “They probably are. He’s just not used to a woman who doesn’t consent. He never met a woman money couldn’t buy I suppose.” As she spoke, Sansa realized the irony of her statement and laughed to herself.

“What?” Jaime asked, genuinely curious.

“I just realized that money _can_ buy me… and not just for the night, for life, apparently.”

“Hey,” She could feel Jaime’s eyes on her but would not meet them. “Sansa, that isn’t how I think of this… arrangement. Truly.”

She was unconvinced so he resorted to humor, another of his qualities she’d already noticed, and rather liked, “As a matter of fact, I rather feel like you bought _me…_ not the other way around.” He pretended to look insulted.

She smiled despite herself, “Is that so?”

“Yes! I mean I’m classically handsome, great sense of humor, I can cook, I make a killer Mojito, I have impeccable hygiene, freakishly good at Karaoke, give _really_ good foot rubs, good design sense, and I actually _enjoy_ ironing. You’ll never have to iron again in your life… I mean if all _that’s_ not enough to make me the world’s most desirable husband, I don’t know what is… and then you on the other hand,” he scrunched his nose in mock disgust, “you’re only well-bred, impossibly gorgeous, educated, smart, funny, independent, charming, adorable when you blush… can handle your liquor, have the metabolism of a six-year-old, have the cutest toes I’ve ever seen… truly, I think you’re getting the better end of the deal…”

Sansa’s laughter warmed Jaime’s heart. She shook her head, “I suppose I’ll just have to find some way to be deserving of you.”

Jaime snorted sardonically, “I hope you enjoy a challenge.”


	7. My Jealous Streak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor come to realizations about each other

Three weeks after Jaime Lannister walked in on Sandor and Sansa in the throes of passion, Sandor dropped the _newlyweds_ off at JFK. The day before they had married at the county courthouse. Sansa wore a blush pink dress and Jaime a light grey suit. They looked like the perfect fucking couple, and though Sandor knew it was all a front, he couldn’t help but wish it was his name she was taking.

He hadn’t been present for the ceremony but saw photos of it on Cersei’s Facebook page. He knew the smiles were genuine, even if not of a romantic nature. Jaime and Sansa hadn’t spent much time together, but whenever they were together, they got along like old friends – just like Sandor and Sansa had. At first, he wondered if it was just Sansa’s nature, until he reminded himself how much she seemed to despise the spray-tanned guys Joffrey surrounded himself with – the ones who looked like they came straight out of an episode of Jersey Shore.

If he had to define Jaime and Sansa’s relationship he’d say they were really good friends and nothing more – as evidenced by the fact that Sansa spent every night in Sandor’s bed – or what had officially become his bed since he signed a one-year contract to be Jaime and Sansa’s full-time personal security.

But despite Sansa giving Sandor every reason to feel comfortable in their relationship, it was hard not to be jealous of the handsome, green-eyed, blond-haired millionaire who got to call Sansa his wife while Sandor called her his client. Sandor had started regretting agreeing to this arrangement until he realized that he should be thankful for what he had. A few months ago he wouldn’t dream of having a woman with half her beauty, intelligence, or wit. Yet now he had her, in all but legal terms. Within the walls of Jaime’s home on Pines Lake, Sandor and Sansa lived as if they were husband and wife, and Jaime their live-in gay best friend. He told himself it shouldn’t matter that he couldn’t hold her hand in public – he didn’t even really like being in public, anyway.

But now, sitting in the SUV watching Jaime and Sansa enter the airport on their way to St. Lucia for their honeymoon, he finally put into words what he was feeling: _fear._ He was afraid that Sansa would develop feelings for Jaime that would displace whatever inexplicable affection she had for Sandor. The dude was fucking charming – even Sandor begrudgingly had to admit he had a good sense of humor and a way of putting people at ease. He somehow managed to make Sandor – the man fucking his wife – feel _welcome_ in his home, like he was his childhood best friend invited to stay at his lakefront house for the summer... _“Oh and while you’re here, help yourself to anything in the fridge, the wine cellar, or my wife’s pants. Just be sure to make the bed when you're done fucking in it.”_

A very selfish part of Sandor wished Jaime would be just a bit of a prick. Not Joffrey-scale prick, but arrogant enough that Sandor would never have to worry about Sansa waking up and realizing she had everything she needed in one frustratingly handsome package, and Sandor was just extra baggage.

Sandor was cursing his insecurity when the back-passenger door opened, and Sansa jumped in.

“Did you forget something?” he asked.

She was panting as if she’d been running, “Yes.” Before he realized what was happening she was leaning over the console and kissing him, unconcerned for prying eyes thanks to the dark tinted windows and one-way traffic flow.

She spoke before their lips had fully parted, “I know this is a fucking weird ass situation, but I’m going to miss you so much, and… Gods, I’m a fucking hypocrite but could you please not fuck anyone while I’m out of town? Because I just had this thought that since I’m with Jaime you’d not want to be alone and – Gods I’m a greedy bitch, but the idea of you with another woman makes me want to put your dick in a cock cage and take the key with me to St. Lucia. But I know I have no right to ask all this of you so just promise me that if you _do_ fuck someone that I’ll never find out, because I’m pretty sure I’ll track her down and murder her… and I’m way too pretty to go to prison.”

Sandor sat in stunned silence. Her words – which somehow were crude even for his ears – made all his fears evaporate. If she liked him enough to kill for him, that meant she was pretty serious. The fact that she thought someone like him would just be able to find some random chick to bang was laughable. She was staring at him expectantly.

He shook his head, “That’s a lot you’re asking, since I have a list of no less than a dozen women who’ve been lined up waiting for you to go out of town. They have a thing for mean fuckers with half a face who smoke a pack a day and curse like a sailor.”

Sansa blushed, “Where there’s one of us, there’s more of us,” she sealed it with a kiss which Sandor ate up, knowing he’d be deprived for the next week.

Cars were starting to honk when the front passenger door swung open, and Jaime hopped in casually, “Hello lovers, sorry to interrupt your tender moment, but I have this thing about not missing flights, and there is a parking attendant eyeballing the car… the type that has a real false sense of authority.”

Sansa swatted Jaime’s shoulder and gave Sandor another quick kiss, “See you in a week.”

“I’ll be counting down the seconds,” he said, thinking the words sounded sarcastic even though they were sincere. As Jaime got out and opened the door for Sansa, Sandor finally had another thought, which he called back to them, “Hey, what the fuck is a cock cage?”

Jaime’s eyes went wide and he grinned at Sansa, “What the fuck were you two talking about?”

She rolled her eyes, gave Sandor another smile, then let her husband lead her by the hand back through the sliding doors of the airport.


	8. Honeymooners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jaime bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for Jaimsa's honeymoon suite: https://www.ladera.com/hilltop-dream-suite.html

The resort Jaime had booked for them was nothing short of paradise. Sansa oohed and ahhed more than she had in all her life up to this point, and Jaime was pleased as punch by her reaction.

The open-air suites were built into a mountainside overlooking the Caribbean Sea and Pitons. Jaime explained that they were actually on a volcano ridgeline and that the whole property used to be part of a cocoa plantation.

Their room was called the Hilltop Dream Suite and Sansa loved the way it sounded. _Hilltop Dream_. As she took in the view her heart ached just a bit by Sandor’s absence, but she was determined not to let her emotions show for fear of seeming ungrateful toward Jaime who was still rambling about the resort and room in an apologetic tone, “It’s not the largest suite, but I thought something a bit more intimate would be nice, and it has one of the best views.”

Sansa’s mouth was agape, “Jaime, this is bigger than my old apartment! And this view – Gods, I’d sleep in a closet if I got to wake up to this view every morning.”

He smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple. It was something he’d done a few times since they’d been living together, and Sansa found it rather endearing. Of course they had kissed on the lips when they wed at the courthouse and once or twice when they were out in public. It was hard to describe the way Jaime’s affection made her feel. It definitely wasn’t _weak in the knees_ like Sandor’s did… but there was something comfortingly familiar about Jaime’s embraces, like hugging an old friend that you’d always had a bit of a crush on but never acted on… but that wasn’t right either… it was what Sansa imagined long-married couples felt like when they kissed or hugged. No fireworks, but still pleasant in a _“we’ve kissed each other a hundred thousand times and know exactly how we like it”_ kind of way. With Sandor, by contrast, every kiss felt like an exploration and a discovery. She longed for him, and longed to know everything about him, both body and mind. With Jaime she felt like she already knew him, though she’d only known him a few weeks. It was mind-boggling, and the best explanation she could come up with was that it was because he was gay, er – _fluid_ – so he could relate to women better than a typical straight guy.

Jaime poured them each a glass of wine and they sat on the double swing that hung beside their private pool. Jaime put his arm around Sansa and used his long legs to propel them gently back and forth while Sansa curled her feet underneath her and leaned against Jaime’s chest. It was late afternoon and the view was breathtaking. Jaime cleared his throat, seemingly afraid of breaking her reverie by speaking, “I know it looks isolated, but there are a lot of things to do here, if you’re interested.”

She sighed wistfully, “Will you think me boring if I want us to just sit here for the next seven days and take in the view?”

He chuckled, “Whatever you want. But just in case you get tired of the view – or the company – here are some of the options. We can sail to one of the nearby islands—”

“Ooh – sailing?”

Jaime smiled, “Mmhmm… also horseback riding—”

“Ooh – I love horseback riding!”

Jaime chuckled, “So much for staying in our room for seven days…”

Sansa blushed, “Sorry… when you said there are things to do, I thought you meant the normal resort things like cocktail hour and spa service. I can do that at home.”

“Well, you can’t do a rainforest tour at home…”

“Ooh, a rainforest tour?”

He laughed again, “Yup, or volcano tour, botanical gardens… snorkeling, whale watching, ziplining… there are some markets, too if you like to shop.”

She jumped out of the swing and clapped her hands, “Ooh, I love to shop! And a volcano tour?!”

“And here you were worried I’d find you boring.”

Sansa sat back down, grasping Jaime’s hand and grinning ear to ear, “I think we might need more than seven days here.”

For a brief moment he looked disappointed, “I wish we could stay longer, but I have a lot of work to get back to… If we don’t get to do everything you want to do perhaps you can come back here with your man for your next vacation.”

Sansa was flabbergasted, “You’d let me bring Sandor here?”

Jaime laughed, “ _Let_ you? Sansa, I’m not your warden. Why are you so surprised? We have it in writing that you can vacation without me.”

“Yes, but with…”

“Your bodyguard? Nothing out of the ordinary about that… though I’d suggest you not get the honeymoon suite, to keep up appearances. A two-bedroom suite at minimum, though probably best to get two separate rooms.”

Sansa threw her arms around him and peppered his face with kisses like a happy dog, “You are the best husband ever!”

“Hah! A bit early to draw that conclusion, though I’ll take the compliment, I’m not a humble man, after all. If only every man knew the secret to wedded bliss – let your wife go on exotic vacations with her lover. The divorce rate would be so much lower, don’t you think?”

Sansa felt heat rise in her cheeks, “You aren’t… _jealous_?”

Jaime shrugged, “Not really. I mean, I suppose there is a bit of _something_ there… envy perhaps? That you’ve found someone who makes you glow. I want that, too – er, no offense.”

“None taken. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find your Mr. Right. And in the meantime, if you come across a Mr. Wrong you better let me know, Sandor and I will kick his ass.”

“Hah! You are a little lioness, aren’t you? Already acting protective of me. It's a nice change of pace, I must say.”

Sansa frowned, “No one has ever been protective of you?”

Jaime shrugged, “Cersei, I suppose. She’s feisty, as you well know. Anytime I got picked on she was there, ready to fight my battles. A bit embarrassing to have your sister stick up for you, but then kids realized she could hold her own against any boy.”

“ _You_ were picked on? Handsome, funny, rich Jaime Lannister got picked on?”

“Ten-year-old boys don’t care about looks or family wealth. I think they could sense I was different... kids can smell your weakness. It really wasn’t so bad though, I had Cersei to stick up for me, and by the time I was twelve the girls started noticing me, so then the boys who’d bullied me suddenly wanted to befriend me.”

“Well I hope you told them all to get bent.”

“Hah! No wonder you and my sister get along… though no, shamefully, I was happy to be so popular all the sudden. And it came in handy when my little brother was being bullied – I was able to use my popularity to shield him somewhat.”

Sansa was shocked to hear Jaime mention his little brother fondly, “I kind of assumed you didn’t get along with your brother…”

Jaime looked sad, and shifted a bit uncomfortably, “No, actually he was my best friend and favorite person…”

“So what happened?”

Jaime offered a sad smile and rose, planting a kiss on Sansa’s forehead as he did so, “Another time, dear. Care for more wine?”

Sansa’s curiosity was piqued but she knew not to pry and instead offered a distraction, “I’m actually kind of hungry…”

Jaime rolled his eyes; in the brief time he’d known Sansa the woman had proven to have an appetite only outweighed by her metabolism.

When the cheerful maître d’ at the resort restaurant greeted “Mr. and Mrs. Lannister” Sansa almost turned around looking for another couple. Jaime, who was almost annoyingly observant, noticed and tugged at her hand warmly, “Come on Mrs. Lannister.” She blushed as they were led to a table at the corner of the large deck. The view was again spectacular, and the whole place was lit up not just by tabletop candles but also hanging lanterns and string lights.

Throughout the evening Sansa felt a bit shallow by the number of times she glanced down to her wedding and engagement rings, that sparkled radiantly in the dim lights. The 1.5 carat oval cut solitaire ring with two thin, matching eternity bands had been a compromise. Sansa wanted something more modest, but Jaime said Lannisters had an image to maintain. He had picked out a 2.5 carat Tiffany ring that would have cost more than Sansa’s last three cars combined but seemed pleased enough by her choice. They shared an appreciation of classic and vintage styles, and Jaime’s ring was a two-tone millgrain band in yellow gold and platinum.

When she pried her eyes away from her sparkly ring finger, she met Jaime’s knowing grin and blushed, “Sorry…”

“Don’t be, I love that you’re happy,” he took her hand in his and stroked his thumb gently across her knuckles.

They shared a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and were feeling rather merry by the time they finished their appetizer of pan-seared scallops in a honey-lemon sauce. Looking around, Sansa noticed that they were surrounded by other happy couples – all celebrating either honeymoons or anniversaries by the look of it. Her attention was drawn by a deep laughter that reminded her of Sandor from a table to her right. The middle-aged gay couple were holding hands and laughing unabashedly, which made Sansa smile. When Jaime’s eyes followed hers to their table, she felt an odd pang of jealousy. _Does he wish that was him? That he was here with a man instead of me…_

She pulled her hand away to take a sip of wine, but Jaime must have noticed her sudden discomfort, “Everything alright?”

“Yes, of course…”

He clearly wasn’t satisfied with her answer as his green eyes continued to study her face.

“I mean, yes, everything’s fine, I was just wondering if you wished…”

“That I was them instead of us?” he said plainly.

She nodded shyly.

He shrugged, “I won’t lie and say I’ve never thought about it, desired it even, but no – if you mean in this moment do I wish I was here with someone else – I don’t.”

She smiled, knowing he was being sincere. She sometimes thought Jaime guileless, and wondered how he’d pull off a political campaign. Didn’t all politicians lie, or at least manipulate facts – even the relatively honorable ones?

She paused her musings to say something she’d wanted to voice numerous times over the past few weeks, “Jaime, I fear I’ve been a bit selfish. You’ve been so good to me, always worrying about what I want, how I feel… making sure you’re not imposing your will on me. I really didn’t know what to expect when my father told me… well, you know. But I have to say, you’ve vanquished almost every fear I had. I won’t say I don’t still worry at times about what the future will bring but suffice to say a huge weight has been lifted. I just hope I’m honoring you the way you’ve honored me.”

He snorted, “Sansa, I can’t believe I’m hearing you say this. Here I’ve been thinking I stepped in shit and came out smelling like a rose… to have you accept me for what I am – _who_ I am, right from day one, it was more than I thought possible. My worst fear was that you would run screaming when you heard the truth about me. My second worst fear was that you would be a spoiled girl who entered into this _union_ just to reap the benefits of my wealth.”

She grinned, “You thought I would be a gold digger?”

He raised his eyebrows, “Not the most illogical assumption, in my defense. But seeing how you are I know that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I thought I’d have to rein you in from spending all my money in one night, instead I feel like I’m going to have to take you to a hypnotherapist to stop you from near-fainting every time I take you shopping somewhere other than Target.”

She laughed, thoroughly amused by how well he already knew her. Though she grew up wealthy, her parents were thrifty and taught their children the value of a dollar. To this day she had a hard time spending more than $30 on a blouse and couldn’t bring herself to pay $20 for a manicure that would be chipping within 48 hours. Her one indulgence was her $10-a-pack cigarettes, which she was missing dearly now that the wine had gone to her head. Jaime knew she and Sandor smoked. He didn’t forbid it but nor did he like it, and she was trying to be respectful. The fact that they were in an eco-friendly paradise also made her worry about the glares she’d get if she dared to light up. But as they polished off their second bottle of wine and the last of their entrees the pack of American Spirits in her suitcase was calling her name. Thankfully Jaime’s relentless sense of humor was keeping her entertained. He had her in stitches talking about all the mischief Cersei got him into when they were teenagers. It sounded like Jaime spent the latter part of his high school years as Cersei’s designated driver, though he was glad to have maintained his senses when Cersei’s loud mouth would get her into confrontations that he had to diffuse.

“Oh my Gods!” Sansa laughed, “I need to go bar-hopping with her. Though we’re bringing Sandor – no offense, but I have a feeling she might get us into trouble…”

“None taken, but I doubt you’ll find her as fun as she used to be.”

“Why not? Just because she’s older and has kids doesn’t mean she can’t let loose every once in a while.”

“It’s not the age, or the kids, it’s the husband.”

Sansa furrowed her brow, “Robert doesn’t like her going out? I kind of got the impression they each did their own thing…”

“Oh he doesn’t govern Cersei, not at all… she just isn’t as carefree as she was before marrying him. I guess you could say it’s made her bitter… resentful.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret, but their marriage was one of mutual business benefit. Except Cersei and Robert are oil and water. Oddly enough they’re really similar, they were both big partiers, very social, fun to be around, but for some reason you put them in a room together and they compete.”

Sansa nodded, “Mmm… I get that. I think that’s why they say opposites attract. Two people who are too similar will try to outdo each other. If they both like the spotlight, and there is only one spotlight, well… you get the idea.”

“Exactly.”

The wine made Sansa a bit loose-lipped and before she knew it she was blurting out the first thing that came to mind, “I feel sorry for them then, that they can’t be as lucky as us.”

Jaime looked at her quizzically, “You consider us lucky?”

Sansa blushed – did he not feel the same way? “I mean… under the circumstances at least. Do you not agree?” she asked bashfully.

“I do. Absolutely, just glad to hear you say it.”

She shrugged, “You’re alright, Lannister.”

“So are you, _Lannister_.”


	9. Honeymooners II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Labels are over-rated, and so are summaries. :)

Sansa awoke the second day of her honeymoon surrounded by white. The last thing she remembered was clinging to Jaime’s arm as they walked back to their suite the prior night, him carrying her heels. After dinner they had sat and talked for a long time and were peer-pressured by the friendly waiter into sharing a gigantic rum punch served in a glass the size of a fishbowl. That much rum and sugar after a bottle of wine each was a decision she now regretted as her eyes were blinded by the bright white mosquito netting surrounding their king bed.

As she rolled over to bury her face in her pillow her aching eyes went wide at the sight of Jaime’s bare back. She shouldn’t be surprised to find him in bed with her, yet she was.

By his steady breathing she knew he was still asleep, and she took the opportunity to inspect what now belonged to her by law but still didn’t feel like hers. His shoulders were broad… not as broad as Sandor’s, but few men were. He was all lean muscle – the type gained by swimming and cardio rather than intense weightlifting. Where Sandor had an olive skin that darkened quickly in the sun, Jaime’s was a warm golden tan that Sansa was instantly envious of. Her own fair skin reddened easily and even after an entire summer of outdoor activities she was at most one foundation shade darker.

She sighed and quietly rose out of bed, downing a large glass of water in hopes to flush out the wine and rum. Their private heated pool looked like just what the doctor ordered, so she donned a navy-blue bikini and took a dip, immediately rethinking all the activities she agreed to just yesterday and wanting to spend the next six days soaking in the water.

She had started to nod off when Jaime’s silky voice called her back to consciousness. “Room for two?”

“Of course,” she answered chirpily, already feeling a bit better.

She heard rustling behind her as he changed and moments later entered her line of sight in gray swim shorts that came to mid-thigh. He stretched at the poolside a moment – giving Sansa an opportunity to see that his front matched his back – long, lean muscle that moved beneath golden skin. A light dusting of chest hair glinted in the morning sun and Sansa felt herself breathe a sigh of relief that he wasn’t the type to shave or wax. Few things were less appealing than hairless men, in Sansa’s opinion. She shamefully thought of how Sandor’s coarse chest hair rubbed against her breasts while they coupled, then hoped Jaime couldn’t see her nipples hardening under the water’s surface.

As he dipped himself into the water he smirked, “Not polite to stare.”

She blushed but managed a snort, “Don’t put it on display then.”

He chuckled, “Old habit. I swam through high school and college. I can’t even get into a hot tub without stretching first.”

“I thought you had a swimmer’s back,” she blurted out.

His smirk widened into a devilish grin, “Were you watching me sleep, Mrs. Lannister?”

“Maybe… but don’t expect me to act guilty. I seem to recall you watching me in bed, and definitely _not_ sleeping, the first day we met,” she answered defiantly.

He threw his head back in laughter, “In my defense, it wasn’t just _you_ I was watching…”

Sansa’s mouth dropped open and she smacked Jaime on the arm, a bit harder than necessary.

“Ow… What, like you wouldn’t look at that…”

She shrugged, “One would have to be blind not want to look at that.”

Jaime was surprised to find it oddly exciting to be able to talk to his wife about another man’s physique and was glad she seemed to be comfortable with the discussion.

He cleared his throat, “Speaking of, have you called our surly roommate yet?”

“I… you would be okay with me calling him on our honeymoon?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I just assumed it would be rude, and you’ve been so great… I didn’t want to seem unappreciative. Plus it probably costs five dollars a minute to call home from here…”

Jaime shook his head in disbelief, “To hear you talk I’d swear you grew up during the Great Depression. Call the poor man… for all he knows we died in a plane crash.”

Sansa threw her arms around his neck giddily, “Best husband ever!”

“So you keep saying; now go call him before he starts thinking you’re the _worst girlfriend_ ever.”

Sansa froze. _Girlfriend?_ Is Sandor my _boyfriend?_ They hadn’t put a label on anything. At first, because it was pointless – they assumed whatever they had together would dissolve as soon as Jaime got home. Then because it was just too unorthodox a situation to even attempt to label. They had fallen for each other so quickly. In a matter of days Sansa felt as comfortable with him – actually, _more_ comfortable, than she had ever felt with another guy. She dated the same guy for two years after college and never once let him see her scarf down an entire plate of loaded nachos. She never let him see her without makeup. Or risked humiliation by getting drunk and trying to walk a straight line. Or used the toilet while he was in the shower. Or told him about being picked on for her scar when she was a kid. Yet she’d done all those things within a week of knowing Sandor. She wanted him to know everything about her and wanted to know everything about him. She wanted to be there to witness every single one his smiles, she wanted to be there to soothe him when he was angry or sad or insecure.

“San – I was just kidding, he won’t think you’re the worst girlfriend, the man is obviously crazy about you,” Jaime looked at her curiously as she sat still as a post just a foot away from him.

“Sorry… I know… I just… we never really said what we are to each other.”

He shrugged, “Labels are over-rated.”

Sansa nodded and went to retrieve her phone and dial Sandor’s number. Her heart raced as the phone rang three times before he answered, “Hello?”

“Hey… it’s me. Sansa.” She added stupidly.

He chuckled, “Yeah, I have this thing called caller ID – you may not have heard of it, it’s only been around thirty years.”

“Oh shut up… So, um, sorry I didn’t call you yesterday – you know unpacking, getting settled. I hope you weren’t worried.”

“It’s alright, I checked the flight status on my phone and saw your plane landed safely and on time.”

“Oh, right… actually that was a lie. I didn’t call because I was worried that it would be rude given this is our honeymoon, er, pretend honeymoon, but Jaime said I should call so you wouldn’t worry.”

“Oh…” he sounded disappointed, “So, how is it there?”

“Fucking gorgeous. The view is amazing, we have our own small heated pool on our porch which is on the edge of a cliff. We’re swimming right now, actually. Well, if you can call sitting in a pool nursing hangovers ‘swimming’.”

“Oh… sounds like you had a fun night…”

“Yeah, I mean no… I mean yeah, but not the kind of fun you maybe meant.”

“It’s alright Sansa, I told you—”

“No, I know… I know it’s alright. I just thought you should know.”

He sighed, “Okay.”

She desperately needed to change the subject, “So what are _you_ doing?”

“I just worked out, then made some lunch. Tuna on lettuce.”

“Hah, guess you can eat healthy when I’m not around.”

“ _That’s_ an understatement.”

“Hey! I’m not _that_ bad, I eat salads.”

“Lettuce and tomato on a burger doesn’t count as a salad.”

“Hah hah Jenny Craig,” she answered sarcastically, earning herself a raspy chuckle that made her skin prickle with desire.

It was silent for a moment while Sansa considered sharing what was really on her mind, but Sandor spoke first, “Well, I’ll let you get back to your… honeymoon.”

“Wait!”

“Yeah?”

“I, um, fuck… so this morning when Jaime told me to call you he referred to you as my ‘boyfriend’ and at first I was like, wait, Sandor isn’t my boyfriend… and then I thought about it and I realized…” she sighed, knowing she was at risk of sounding way too clingy, “I realized it already feels like more than that. I miss you and it’s only been what, 24 hours? I wish you were here, and I know that would be awkward as fuck but I just… I guess I just thought I should tell you that even though it’s only been a little over a month I feel like we’ve been together much longer, like I’m already dependent on you and it’s a little scary, but I thought you should know how I feel.”

He was silent.

She clenched her eyes shut, “Are you still there or did you go running for the hills?”

“I’m here,” his voice broke and she hoped it was from happiness and not fear.

“Look, you don’t have to say anything, I didn’t expect you to feel the same way, I just—”

“I do. I fucking expect to see you when I wake up. I woke up alone for thirty-five years and only after a month with you it suddenly feels like torture.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And I was bored last night so I walked down to the bar, but it wasn’t the same without you. The bartender – you know the one who is there on Thursdays, the one with the broken nose?”

“Yeah, I like that one, except he always checks out my ass.”

Sandor laughed, “Yeah, and doesn’t even try to hide it; he’s got balls, I’ll give him that. Anyway his name’s Bronn and I sat there drinking my beer and he asked if I was having woman troubles.”

“Wow, what a bartender cliché.”

“Yeah, right? Anyway I told him “no” and he didn’t believe me. Then he asked where the spunky redhead is that I normally come in with. So I said, “Oh she’s just my client, she’s out of town with her husband”. And it felt so wrong to say it. Don’t get me wrong, Sansa – I’m not complaining, I know what I signed up for, but it was kind of the same experience you had this morning, I realized how much I missed you after only twelve fucking hours.”

Sansa felt tears running down her cheek and couldn’t speak – she knew he’d hear the emotion in her voice if she did.

“You there or did _you_ go running for the hills? You’re on a cliff so I’m a bit worried…”

She laughed, “No, just happy. Hoping you’d keep talking another hour.”

“Hah! I think I’ve talked more in the past month than I do in an average year.”

“Well, I guess I should actually let you go, I think this call is probably costing Jaime a hundred bucks.”

“Worth every penny, you ask me. Besides, the fucker can afford it.”

“Hah!” she called over to Jaime, “Hubby, you can stop worrying about me not wanting to spend your money, Sandor’s willing to make up for it.”

Jaime called over his shoulder, “I’ve only been gone a day, what’s he spending my money on?”

“Hookers and blow,” she answered, earning a laugh from both men.

“I thought you put his cock in a cage before we left town,” Jaime winked.

Apparently, Sandor could hear Jaime through the phone for his voice rose, “Oh! Speaking of – I Googled what a cock cage is last night.”

“Yeah, and? What did you think?” Sansa asked mischievously.

“At first I was terrified, then intrigued, then terrified again, then bizarrely aroused.”

Sansa burst out laughing and Jaime stared at her. Through fits of giggles she answered his unvoiced question, “Sandor jerked off to orgasm denial porn last night.”

“I did not,” Sandor groaned as Jaime simultaneously said, “Good for him.”

Sansa wiped tears of laughter from her eyes as Jaime suddenly looked serious, though his words were in stark contrast, “Oh, speaking of jerking off, tell Sandor the pool guy is coming Monday.”

She rolled her eyes, “Jaime said to expect the pool guy on Monday, and apparently he’s really hot.”

Sandor growled, “Alright, I’ll try to control myself.”

Sansa was rolling on the bed laughing and Jaime grabbed the phone from her hand, “While our lady-in-common is indisposed, peeing her pants to be precise, can you make a note to tell Javier to order a new solar cover? The current one has a tear.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of duct tape?”

“Yeah, it’s that thing used by poor people and those who don’t mind ugly gray patch jobs.”

“Gods, gay and rich is a _bad_ combination.”

“Well, it’s serving you pretty well, isn’t it?”

“Can’t argue with that. Alright, I’ll tell Jose to order a new solar cover.”

“Javier.”

“Whatever. You’re the one who wants to get in his pants, not me.”

“I’d pretend to argue, but I think we both know it would be pointless… anyway, thanks. Here’s Sansa.”

“Hey again lover,” her melodic voice said.

“Hey.”

“Well, this was fun, but I don’t want to take advantage of my husband’s good nature by racking up a big phone bill to speak with my boyfriend, so I guess I’ll let you go. I think we’re going horseback riding in a bit, anyway. There’s a place nearby you can ride them on the beach, in your bathing suits, and take them right into the water. I can’t wait.”

Sandor groaned.

“What?”

“Sorry, just picturing you in a bikini riding a horse.”

“Mmm… I’ve gotten pretty good at riding a horse the past few weeks, haven’t I?”

“Fuck, girl. Tell Lannister to take a video, need something to look at later.”

“Already over the cock cage porn?”

“Fuck off.”

“Careful, I might just do that…”

He groaned again, and Sansa became aroused at the idea of Sandor jerking off to images of her. She wondered if late-night phone sex would be pushing Jaime too far.

“Alright, I’m going before you say anything that makes me want to hop on the next plane.”

She giggled, “Okay, I’ll miss you.”

“Miss you too. Bye, love.”

Sansa stared into the phone long after he had hung up. _Love?_


	10. Honeymooners III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jaime discover they have the same taste in men.

The first four days of their honeymoon went by far too quickly. Though Sansa missed Sandor and was anxious to get back home to see him, St. Lucia was a blast – as was Jaime. They had already done horseback riding, ziplining, toured the rainforest, and gone on a sailing trip to Martinique where they enjoyed the local cuisine, culture, and to Sansa’s immense delight – shopping. She insisted on spending her own money even though Jaime clearly wanted to spoil her. To appease him she let him buy her a handmade bracelet that she’d been ogling.

They had strolled hand-in-hand and chatted. Jaime was a natural conversationalist and could find something to talk about even with the locals and hotel staff. To maximize the amount of food they could sample during their trip they shared everything from craft beers to shrimp tacos to Pina coladas served in hollowed-out coconuts. Everywhere they went they were surrounded by beauty and Sansa was glad she had brought her good camera, though she’d occasionally snap one with her phone so she could send it to Sandor. She wanted him to know how much she was thinking about him.

On day five both Jaime and Sansa needed some R&R after four days of much walking and imbibing. They decided to spend the day lounging on the local beach. When Sansa ordered “Sex on the Beach” after lunch Jaime grinned and simply told the waiter, “I’ll have what she’s having”. Somehow watching Jaime sip fruity drinks with umbrellas in them made him only look confident in his sexuality. It was easy to forget he was gay until a bunch of young men started an impromptu volleyball match.

“Gods be good,” Jaime mumbled under his breath.

Sansa followed his eyes, “Mmm… not the worst view.”

Jaime shook his head, “So which one would you pick, Mrs. Lannister?”

She scrunched her brow, “Tough choice, probably the one with the red swim trunks.”

Jaime looked at the man she had indicated. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a well-trimmed beard and had shoulder-length dark hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Well, I’ll try not to overanalyze the fact that you have a type, and it’s decidedly _not_ blond hair and green eyes…”

She swatted his arm, “I’m an equal opportunity lover, but yeah, I guess I go for tall, dark and handsome. How about you – let me guess, the one in the pineapple shorts?”

“Uh, no,” Jaime stated with conviction, “As a matter of fact I’d have made the same choice as you.”

She nodded, “I guess it seems like a bit of a contradiction, given my past with men, but I just go for that big, strong type, the kind that can toss me over his shoulder.”

Jaime looked at her curiously, “What do you mean your past with men?”

Sansa felt her cheeks redden, part of her was afraid to talk about her past, but it was so easy opening up to Jaime and before she knew it the words were spilling out, “I guess I have a history of not picking winners. My first boyfriend, in high school, was Mr. Charming… you know the type – dimples, blue eyes you would drown in… but he turned out to have a dark side. It was the same thing in college, I was always drawn to the friendly, outgoing type. Or the real intellectual type. But they all ended up being possessive after I got to know them. I even dated an older man for a while, thinking he’d be more sophisticated… less – I don’t know, testosterone-driven – but he turned out to be a bit obsessive. Tried to get me to quit school and move in with him. I almost did, too, until I realized he was just using me to gain access to my father. I’ve only really had one ‘normal’ relationship, but I was so twisted up by then I never was really myself with him. I was always afraid of doing something to make him angry, because that’s how every other guy I knew was…” Sansa looked up and noticed Jaime was watching her rapt, genuinely interested in what she had to say.

“Anyway, that was right after college. I’ve spent the past five years blissfully unattached, and I’m glad I did, because I learned what I like and don’t like. Learned who I am. And I also learned that monsters are often hidden behind pretty faces and sweet words. Now I value honesty more than anything else.”

“Good,” Jaime smiled, “Because I’ve been told I have no filter. And our man-in-common certainly isn’t afraid of speaking his mind… but I still don’t get why you said going for the brawny type is a contradiction to your past.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say, I don’t want you think I’m looking for sympathy, but I’ve had a few guys that got… well, I guess you’d say they got physical…”

“Sansa… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t, I said I don’t want pity.”

“I know, and I’m not giving you pity. I just mean I’m sorry because you shouldn’t have had to go through that… no one should.”

“I know. It’s all good now though,” she offered him a reassuring smile just as the volleyball landed a couple feet in front of her lounge chair. One of the players jogged over, holding Sansa’s eyes as he did. As he bent down to pick up the ball, he winked at her, “Ciao bella.”

Sansa was speechless as he trotted back to join his friends.

“Wow, I must be invisible,” Jaime muttered.

Sansa giggled, “Jealous that a man is hitting on your wife, or not hitting on you?”

“Oddly, the first one,” he said truthfully, clearly surprised by his own feelings.

She reached for his hand, “Don’t worry, there are only two men for me.”

He rose from his chair and leaned over Sansa, one hand on each of her armrests. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he lowered his sunglasses and whispered, “Minx.”

While she was still laughing, he hoisted her up over her shoulder in one fluid motion, soliciting a shocked yelp, “Jaime!”

“Shut up, I know you like it,” he teased as he strutted casually to the shore and carried her all the way until the water was knee-deep before putting her down. They waded into the deeper water and Jaime pulled her into his arms. Instinctively she wrapped her legs and arms around him and let him keep them afloat. She leaned back to look up at the cloudless sky, which somehow seemed bluer than it did in North Jersey.

She sighed, “Is it just me or is everything more beautiful here?”

“Sure is,” he answered hungrily, before planting a light kiss on her throat.

She looked down into his eyes, “Jaime…” she whispered.

He responded with another kiss, equally light, but this time on her lips. He pulled back, looking for resistance in her eyes. Finding none, he continued, still tentatively, planting featherlight kisses on her lips, jaw, neck, and shoulders. Though his touch was innocent, Sansa felt her core tingling, and could barely hold in a moan when she felt him harden against her center.

Seemingly thinking he’d overstepped some boundary he put some space between them before clearing his throat, “Shall we head back? Wash up and get some dinner?”

She nodded and he looked briefly disappointed.

“What are you in the mood for?”

She pressed a kiss against his lips, “Bacon cheeseburger.”

\----------------------------------------------

They returned to their suite in anxious silence. They held hands, fingers laced. He kissed her hair and she his shoulder. When they walked through the door to their room the sun was just setting on the day and Jaime suddenly found himself wishing they had more time here. He stood at the edge of the pool staring over the cliff toward the sea. Slender arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him from his trance. He felt Sansa’s warm breath between his shoulder blades where she rested her forehead. After enjoying the tickle a few minutes he turned around and tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. He needed to see desire and permission there, and he found both. He kissed her then, slowly and deeply, enjoying the taste of the last fruity concoction she drank. He brushed her long hair over her bare shoulder and felt her shiver at his touch. He was fairly certain her shoulders were his favorite part of her body. They were soft and feminine, dusted with freckles that seemed to only come out in the sun.

He was kissing and nipping this part of her body, wondering if she’d mind if he spent an hour here before moving onto his next stop. Not wanting to test her patience, he continued to her neck. When his lips grazed the place where her neck met her shoulder she gasped, and Jaime realized that this was _precisely_ his favorite place on her body.

His fingers dared to push down the straps that held up her bikini top and he watched, mesmerized, as they fell down her arms, tugging the fabric covering her breasts just a bit lower, but not low enough. Seemingly reading his mind Sansa reached behind her and unhooked the clasp until the entire garment dropped to the tile floor, leaving her chest exposed to him. Her nipples pebbled in the evening breeze and he ran both thumbs over them lightly before tracing the crescent at the bottom of each breast. She gasped involuntarily at his touch as his hands continued to gently trace down her ribs and waist before returning to breasts. The need to taste her became overpowering and he bent down to take one nipple in his mouth as she mewled. She tasted like salt, sweat, and coconut oil, and he briefly mused that it was a rather pleasant combination.

Her hands in his hair pulled him back up and she kissed him hungrily, wrapping her arms around his neck so that her soft chest was pressed against his ribs, and his hard need was pressed against her belly.

“Jaime,” she sighed against his lips, and he wondered if his name had ever been said so sweetly. Sweet as it was, it awoke something rather primal in him and without thinking he had lifted her off the ground and walked her to the bed where he sat her down at the edge. He expected her to lay back and let him continue worshipping her body, but she eagerly ran her fingertips down the ridges of his abdomen before tracing the skin along the waistband of his shorts. His skin turned to gooseflesh.

“Jaime,” she said again, only this time it was a question. He nodded and watched her with bated breath as she pulled down his shorts and let his cock spring free. For a fleeting moment he felt self-conscious. He had nothing to be ashamed of but knew that he didn’t _measure up_ with the Spartan that was Sandor Clegane. But his fears were quickly vanquished by the dark lust in her eyes when she gazed up at him.

He threaded his fingers through her messy hair but didn’t pull, not wanting her to feel obligated. His consideration was for naught, though, as she grasped his shaft in her right hand, pumping slowly as her tongue tasted his tip. He let his head drop back and groaned. It had been months since someone’s lips were on him, and over a week since he had a release, a fact he was starting to regret as he didn’t want this night to end too quickly. Luckily, she seemed content to tease and explore him with her tongue rather than stroke him in earnest.

The urge to do a little exploring of his own overtook him, “Sansa, may I taste you?” She blushed but nodded before scooting back on the bed and allowing him to pull the final article of clothing off of her. He could tell by the way the fabric clung to her center that she was wet with desire and he fought the compulsion to grin proudly.

He was dying to feast on her but took his time to kiss the inside of her thighs while stroking her hips with his hands. She reached for his left hand with her right, seemingly needing some reassurance.

“You’re perfect, wife,” he offered, and she might just have believed him as her body relaxed a bit and her legs parted slightly. While still holding her hand he dipped his tongue in her pool of heat and she immediately hissed with pleasure. He didn’t bother trying to contain his smug grin this time, instead pressing his smile against her inner lips before suckling on her clit. He circled it with his deft tongue, alternating between light and firm pressure to keep her from edging too close. He wanted to draw this out. It wasn’t often he indulged in the fairer sex, but when he did, he wanted to savor every drop – both literally and figuratively.

But soon her left hand was gripping him by his hair, pulling his mouth firmly against her slit. Her building need was sabotaging his attempt at restraint and he couldn’t fight the desire to suck her pearl mercilessly. Her belly and thighs quivered as she panted his name over and over again. If it was possible to come from the sound of a woman’s voice Jaime was dangerously close. He released her hand to pry his under her bottom and raise her hips up just slightly. The subtle change in angle seemed to heighten her pleasure, “Jaime… Jaime, Gods, fuck! Gods, please… please… pleeeease!” Her final plea was drawn out as she climaxed, pressing herself against him so hard that he wondered if his lips would be bruised tomorrow.

Once she came down from her high, he kneeled between her legs, rubbing her hips and thighs soothingly, “You’re fucking amazing, Sansa.”

“Me?!” she questioned breathlessly, “I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re glorious, taking what you want.”

She blushed and he felt the need to kiss her, to make her taste herself on his lips and tongue as if that could somehow convey how wonderful she was. She kissed him back greedily, seemingly wanting more of him now that she’d had a sample – and Gods, did he want to give her everything he had.

He let the tip of his manhood rest against her opening without pressing in. He selfishly wanted to hear her to beg for it, or better yet pull him into her. She kissed and nipped at his jaw while he kneaded her fleshy hip with his right hand, using the left to support his weight.

Soon his wish was answered, as she wrapped her legs around him and used her ankles to pull him closer, until just the tip was buried in her warmth, “Sansa,” he breathed.

“Take me, husband,” she begged, and his hips answered for him of their own accord, plunging into her until he was buried to the hilt and she was gasping for air.

Their mouths never parted as he rocked against her, sometimes kissing, sometimes licking, sometimes just breathing in the other’s air.

“Jaime,” she moaned, and he could feel her clamping down on him, desperately seeking her second orgasm. He increased his pace while keeping himself pressed deeply into her.

“Jaime, I’m… don’t stop, I’m…”

“Fuck,” he groaned into her hair. He knew she was close but so was he.

“Please… Jaime, please… Oh _Godsssss_!” she cried out not a moment too soon for he was already spilling himself into her. He collapsed on top of her, boneless, but she seemed to welcome the weight as she stroked the hair at the nape of his neck while her other hand stroked his shoulder blade.

He inhaled the fragrance of her hair – saltwater, sea air, and lemongrass, he thought happily. His little wife was a veritable smorgasbord of scents and flavors.

He finally withdrew from her warmth and rolled to lay beside her.

“Jaime, that was—”

“Incredible,” he finished.

She nodded shyly. How simple words could make her blush moments after she’d been thoroughly fucked was a mystery to him. She was equal parts shy and assertive and he couldn’t decide which side he liked more.

Her flat stomach rumbled, eliciting a giggle, “But now I need an _actual_ bacon cheeseburger.”


	11. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the reunion anyone expected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of angst here (every story needs a little) but don't worry - happy times ahead.

Sansa and Jaime took a car service back from the airport Thursday afternoon since Sandor needed to be home to let in an assistant from Jaime’s lawyer’s office who was dropping off contracts that needed to be signed by the next day. Sandor had grumbled something about not being a butler but obliged.

Traffic was horrendous, and the newlyweds didn’t walk through the front door until 7 pm. “Honey, we’re home,” Jaime shouted, earning a healthy swat from Sansa.

Sansa was startled when she turned to see Sandor in the sitting room off of the foyer – and he wasn’t alone. A tall blond woman in a structured pantsuit was sitting stiffly across from Sandor, who looked very awkward to be playing host. The excitement Sansa felt at the prospect of seeing Sandor after a week without him died on the vine as she took in the woman’s icy glare. If it was possible to literally suck the joy out of a room, she was doing it.

“Brienne…” though he clearly knew the woman, Jaime looked just as surprised by her presence as Sansa was… “Uh, I thought I’d see you tomorrow, at the office… is everything alright?”

She ignored his question, “I’ve met your guard, aren’t you going to introduce me to your _wife_?”

If she weren’t so unattractive Sansa would have suspected her to be a jilted ex-lover by her tone of voice and body language. Then Sansa realized the woman wasn’t ugly, per se, just decidedly _masculine_.

_Is this the type of woman Jaime is ordinarily attracted to?_

“Uh, yes,” Jaime clasped Sansa’s hand. “Brienne, this is my wife, Sansa Lannister, formerly Sansa Stark. Sansa – Brienne Tarth is my campaign manager.”

Sansa approached the woman and extended her hand, “Pleasure to meet you, Brienne.”

The woman hesitated before standing and taking the offered hand. Sansa had to hide her grimace under the force of Brienne’s squeeze, while trying not to look intimated by her height. She stood almost as tall as Sandor, nearly a head taller than Sansa.

Jaime cleared his throat, “Sandor – would you help Sansa bring our luggage up?”

Sandor practically jumped at the opportunity to leave the awkwardness. Once upstairs in Jaime’s bedroom Sansa threw herself in Sandor’s arms.

He hugged her back, “Gods I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“Me too! But what the hell is with that woman?!”

Sandor’s eyes widened and he shook his head, “Who the hell knows? She’s fucking scary, and that’s coming from _me._ ”

They crept to the top of the stairs, eavesdropping without shame.

_“All I’m saying is that I would think, as your_ campaign manager _, I wouldn’t have to hear about your marriage on TMZ!”_

Sansa had to stifle a gasp. She turned to Sandor and mouthed “We were on TMZ?!” He only shrugged, palms upturned.

_“Look, Brienne – it’s not like I intentionally kept it from you. It just happened so fast—”_

_“I’ll say! What were you thinking?”_

_“That I was in love, that I met my soulmate. We had an instant connection, what can I say?”_

_The large woman scoffed loudly, “Connection? That’s one way to say it. Really Jaime, I thought you were better than that…”_

_“Better than what, exactly?”_

_“Than falling for a pair of well-formed tits!”_

Sansa covered her mouth in shock.

_“Brienne – she’s my wife, don’t speak about her that way.”_

_“Fine, just don’t expect me to clean up your mess when she leaves you and drags your name through the dirt.”_

_“Sansa isn’t like th—”_

_“Please tell me you at least have a prenup?”_

_“You’re my campaign manager, not my lawyer, but as a matter of fact yes, Sansa and I have a prenup in place.”_

_“Small mercies, I suppose…”_

As it sounded like Brienne was walking toward the door Sansa and Sandor practically dove back into the master bedroom and hid there like a bunch of frightened children.

The front door slammed shut and Jaime shouted up, “You can come out now.”

Sansa bounded down the stairs, “Are you alright, Jaime?”

“Yes,” he smiled weakly, “I apologize for Brienne. She is protective of me.”

“More like in love with you,” Sandor mumbled.

Sansa nodded, “Yeah, it’s one thing to disapprove of your hasty nuptials but I think she was trying to break my hand!”

Jaime shook his head, “No… Brienne’s great at what she does, she’s dogged, motivated, and has a bit of a chip on her shoulder – the byproduct of being a woman in a man’s world.”

“That was a woman?” Sandor asked, earning a swat from Sansa – another of the many things he missed during her absence.

Sansa lowered her voice as if Brienne might be standing outside listening, “Do you and she have… _history_?”

“Brienne and me?!” Jaime looked repulsed, “No – never, do you really think I would—”

“Well, she’s a tad manly—”

“A _tad?”_ Sandor raised his eyebrows.

“—and since you told us of your proclivities.”

Jaime looked flustered, “No, I like men who look like men, and women who look like women.”

“Alright, sorry… oh! I almost forgot – she said we were on TMZ?”

Jaime was unsurprised, “I figured that would happen…”

“Really?” Sansa whipped out her phone and tapped a quick search, then held it out so all three of them could watch the video, which was narrated by a perky blond:

> _Sorry ladies. Looks like playboy bachelor and heir to the Lannister fortune, Jaime Lannister, is officially off the market. Check out this photo a viewer sent in of a sinfully handsome Jaime leaving the courthouse with a pretty redhead on his arm. Through a little digging we found out she is none other than Sansa Stark – socialite and heiress to the Stark family business and fortune._

“Socialite?” Sansa remarked.

Jaime shrugged, “Playboy?”

The woman’s co-host, a suave looking Hispanic man chimed in:

> _I mean, if you’re gonna settle down, that’s the kind of woman to do it with, am I right? And no sooner had they tied the knot than they were jet setting down to the posh Ladera Resort in St. Lucia._

The video cut to stock footage of the resort.

> _But we here at TMZ obtained some video of the newlyweds having some fun in the sun…_

Next the screen showed a 10-second clip of Jaime carrying a giggling Sansa over his shoulder into the ocean. 

Sansa gasped, “How can they show that?!”

Jaime shook his head, “Viewers get paid to send in photos and videos. The person who takes the video owns it and can sell their rights.”

Sandor suddenly stalked off to the veranda, “Sandor, wait!”

Sansa went to follow but Jaime pulled her arm, “Let him be.”

“No! He’s going to think—”

“Think what? That we had a good time together on our honeymoon? We did, so unless you’re going out there to lie to him just let him cool off.”

“But—”

“Trust me.”

Sansa nodded, though whether it was because she believed Jaime or was afraid of the conversation forthcoming with Sandor, she wasn’t sure.

Jaime sighed, “Look, I’m exhausted and have a lot of work to do tomorrow. I’m going to bed. You okay?”

“Yeah, I … I think I’ll go to bed shortly myself.” Jaime kissed her on the forehead and said goodnight.

As soon as Jaime disappeared behind his door a war waged in Sansa’s head between her fear of Sandor’s anger and her desire to set things straight. The latter won, and she found herself walking quietly to the veranda. Sandor was further out, smoking a cigarette by the lake.

She stood next to him, looking at the lake, “Can I get one of those?” He held out his pack and lighter without looking at her.

“Thanks.”

The cigarette was halfway burned before she spoke again, “Sandor, I’m—”

“Don’t. Just don’t. I know what I signed up for, just didn’t think I’d have to watch it.”

“So that’s it – you’re not mad that it happened, just that you had to see it?”

“Both. You just looked so _happy_ with him.”

She sighed, no empty placation would work with Sandor, “I was.”

He turned to face her.

“But not the same happy as I am with you. And I did miss you, every day. I want to go back there with you someday.”

“Sounds like a blast, get to reenact all your happy memories from your honeymoon, who wouldn’t want that?”

“Sandor please, what can I say?”

“Nothing, Sansa. I’ll get over it.”

She started to walk away, resigned, but turned back. “No. I was so happy to get back here and see you. I don’t want to spend the night being angry.”

“Well I guess you can’t get _everything_ you want.”

She sighed again and went to bed – in _her_ bedroom.

…

Jaime woke up around midnight after a few hours of fitful sleep. He made his way to kitchen and poured himself two fingers of scotch before deciding to just take the whole bottle. He needed to decompress, and the best way to do so was to sit at the lake and let the sounds and smells of summer invade his senses. He almost walked right past Sandor who was sitting as still as a statue on the veranda, only the cherry of his cigarette giving away his presence. After some deliberation Jaime turned to face him, “If I sit down and offer you some scotch are you going to be able to resist the temptation to throttle me?”

The man shifted and sighed, “Yes, but only because of the scotch.”

“Fair enough,” Jaime plopped down leaving two feet between them. He didn’t speak for some time, content to listen to the crickets and cicadas.

“You want to know what Sansa and I were doing right before that video was taken?”

“I dunno, telling each other how pretty you are?”

Jaime snorted, “We were admiring a group of men playing volleyball.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, Lannister, you’re going in the wrong direction.”

“My point is, me – 85% gay Jaime – and my 100% straight wife, were talking about men. As in men we find attractive.”

“Yeah, well maybe it’s the 15% I’m worried about. 15% of your pretty face is better than 100% of this,” Sandor pointed at his scars.

Jaime chuckled, “Well, care to know which of the young European volleyball players Sansa fancied when I asked her?”

“Oh they were European? I feel even better now.”

Jaime ignored his sarcasm, “The tallest one, with broad shoulders, dark skin, a dark beard, and midnight black hair pulled into a ponytail. Sound like anyone you know?”

“Aye, but I bet he had a whole face.”

“Is that really what this is really about, your scars?”

“Well if it ain’t about that, then tell me why Sansa is one of five women who’ve looked at me with lust instead of fear? Or disgust?”

“Because Sansa is an amazing woman. One in a million probably.”

“Aye, not arguing that.”

“And she loves you, so what does that make you?”

Sandor stared at him, unblinking.

“What?” Jaime asked, perplexed by the man’s silence.

“She said she loves me?”

Jaime blushed, feeling like he’d inadvertently disclosed a friend’s secret, “She didn’t say that, but it was quite obvious. She was fluttering around like a hummingbird every time she spoke to you on the phone, grinning like a fool every time you sent a snarky response to one of the photos she sent you, and about a hundred times I heard her say, “Sandor would love this…” – seriously, I felt like a third wheel at times.”

“Hmpf, good.”

“See – _that’s_ what she loves – that brutal honesty. She told me about her past relationships and—”

“She talked about that?”

“Yeah, why?”

“She never talked to me about them.”

_Fuck. Just when I was making progress…_

“I suspect she might be afraid to anger you.”

“Anger me?”

“Well, they weren’t all that pleasant, but I don’t want to share her secrets, not that I’m sure they are secrets. I’m sure she’ll tell you in time.”

“In time? How much time you think I got, Lannister? How much time before she realizes you’re all she needs, and then some?”

“Sandor, look, I adore Sansa, I really do. She’s fun, smart, funny, affectionate, beautiful… but her gender alone means she’ll never be enough for me. And if she’s not enough for me, how could I ever be enough for her? You think she’d choose 15% of me over 100% of you?”

“I don’t fucking know. This is all new to me. Finally meet a perfect woman, who for some unknown reason actually likes me, and I have to share her.”

Jaime actually felt bad for the man. Joffrey’s guard dog, who snarled at everyone who looked at him sideways, was a lonely puppy dog underneath it all. But despite his compassion he knew the man would rebuke anything bordering on pity, “Well, I can’t do anything about that. You need to decide if you can deal with it or not, but keep in mind, every week won’t be like this one was. I work 12-hour days, not including the commute. I’ll be out of town a third of the year, if not more… why not give it a couple months and see how you feel? If it ends up being unbearable for you, I’ll release you from the contract early, you have my word.”

Sandor studied him, though what he was looking for Jaime didn’t know.

“You’re alright, Lannister,” with a brotherly slap to his thigh he went back inside without another word, leaving Jaime to wonder what precisely he’d said that soothed the man’s ire.


	12. Making up is the best part

Sansa woke up with a heavy weight across her belly and smiled when she saw it was a tan arm covered in dark hair. The bedside clock showed that it was 7:32 am, and Sansa wondered if she should get up to see Jaime off before work. They’d never really discussed his expectations of her as lady of the house. Was she supposed to be standing in the doorway with a travel mug of coffee when he left for the day? A quick peck on the cheek, a straightening of his tie, and a ‘have a good day sweetie’?

She decided to at least be _awake_ when he left, in case he needed anything, so she planted a kiss on Sandor’s sleeping head then set off to find Jaime. Except he wasn’t in his bedroom – only his neatly made bed that would make even Martha Stewart proud. He wasn’t in the kitchen or living room or dining room, either. Sansa swung open the door to the three-car garage and found one missing – his “practical” car – the black Audi SUV.

Like Kevin McCallister realizing he was home alone, Sansa ran back upstairs and almost jumped on Sandor in the bed, until she realized she hadn’t showered since before they left the resort the prior morning. Her armpits were _ripe_ and she briefly worried that Sandor had noticed when he came to bed. His sweat always smelled so clean and manly – one whiff of him after a workout and Sansa was like a bitch in heat. Her sweat always seemed to smell like red meat and whatever alcohol she’d consumed the prior day. She decided to start eating healthier, like Sandor did. Maybe she’d go vegetarian for a bit or try a juice cleanse.

_Yeah, like that will ever happen._

She was brushing her teeth in the large shower of her en suite bathroom when a sudden draft alerted her to Sandor’s presence in the bathroom, followed by a long moan as he peed, then the sound of him brushing his teeth and gargling. She smiled to herself as she thought about how rigid he was in his routines. The weeks they’d lived before the honeymoon Sansa marveled at how he brushed, flossed, and used mouthwash every night, even if they went to bed plastered at two in the morning. Brushing is one thing – but who the fuck remembers to floss every night, even when they’re drunk?

Sansa was glad she’d already washed every nook and cranny, certain that Sandor would join her for some morning shower sex. She finger-combed her hair so it fell loose in sexy ringlets instead of being plastered to her back in a wet sheet, then stood trying to look sexy-without-trying as he finished his routine… and exited the bathroom.

_What the fuck?_

Before she could overthink it, she slid the shower door open and shouted, “Yo, where are you going?”

“Huh?” he asked, peeking his head back through the bathroom door.

“You’re not going to join me in here?”

“Uh… no… I mean yeah, but I thought you were mad.”

“What? Why?”

“Cause I was kind of a bastard last night. Giving you shit about enjoying your honeymoon.”

“I thought _I_ was the bastard for enjoying my honeymoon. I should have spent it pining for you.”

“Jaime said you kind of did… well not pining, but that you missed me and talked about me all the time.”

“When did you guys talk?”

“Last night. When you were sleeping.”

“Aww!!”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, clearly over his fear that she was mad at him.

“So you’ll come in then?”

He was in the shower faster than she could wonder at how quickly he shed his pajama pants.

“Damn,” she muttered, not realizing she’d said it aloud as she eyed him from head to toe. Would she ever get tired of seeing him naked? She didn’t have much time to admire him though as their lips were clashing together hungrily.

“Too fucking long,” he mumbled against her lips.

“My sentiments exactly,” she smiled back. She had missed the feel of his beard, of his hands, of his lips… of his arms wrapped around her.

They made out like a pair of horny teenagers for several minutes, tasting each other, nipping lips, tongues chasing tongues. But there was nothing juvenile about his hard shaft pressed against her belly, which twitched when she was bold enough to suck his tongue to give him a sampling of what she had planned for him. He growled against her mouth until she pushed him back against the shower wall.

She peered up at him mischievously as she took the bar of soap in her hands and lathered up, “First I make you clean…” She used the slickness of the soap to stroke him. No easing into it, no teasing, tickling touches, she grasped him hard and pumped him mercilessly with one hand as the other massaged and tugged at his sack.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed as he let his head drop back, eyes shut. She continued for a minute before using the shower hose to rinse him off.

Dropping to her knees she grinned up at him, “Then I get you dirty…” She dragged her tongue from balls to tip – a rather long journey.

“Holy _fuck.”_

She circled his thick head with her tongue several times before graduating to suckling on it lightly, pleased with herself that she could already taste his salty precum.

“Fucking hells, girl.”

His crude words and raspy voice sent a jolt of want straight to her core, but she ignored it. This was about him, showing him how much she wanted him – needed him… and Gods did she need him. Her want of him was like a living breathing appendage that had taken up residence in her chest. It was primal and spiritual at the same time. While Jaime’s kisses and caresses could get her aroused, she needed only occupy the same space as Sandor, hear his voice, see his reluctant smile, to literally cream her pants.

She lapped at him another minute before deciding he’d had enough teasing. Taking as much of him as she could in her mouth, she used her hand to cover the rest of him. Hand and mouth moved in tandem as she braced herself with one hand pressed against his rock-hard stomach.

“Fuck, Sansa,” he mumbled as his head once again dropped back against the tile wall. His thick fingers carded through her wet hair and guided her pace though she could tell he was being careful with her.

She removed him from her mouth with a ‘pop’ long enough to look up at him, “Fuck my mouth, Sandor.”

“Fucking hells, Sansa,” he said, with a tinge of shame in his voice, but not enough to make him decline her offer. When she surrounded him again with her lips, he began thrusting his hips, fucking her hand and mouth slowly at first before his need overcame his self-control. His pace accelerated and Sansa let her hand drop away as she needed both to brace herself on his thighs. With his hands firmly in her hair he could have fucked right into her throat, but he mercifully only pushed as far as she could take in her mouth.

“Fuck… fuck… you feel so good, girl… fuck, Sansa, I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

She was grateful for the warning, and not a moment too soon as he spurted into her throat a stream that would have choked her had she not been expecting it. His grip loosened and his thrusts slowed as she sucked every last drop out of him, pleased by her efforts as he slid down the wall and sat before her, eyes still closed, breath still rapid.

She couldn’t resist the desire to plant kisses on his chest above his heart which was beating with more force than seemed humanly possible. She mused that his heart was as big and strong as the rest of him, and the thought made her smile.

He finally opened his eyes, finally down from his high, “If that’s what happens when we make up, then I’m going to fight with you every day.”

“Mmm,” she moaned against his lips, “Careful, lover, I fight dirty.”

“Hah! You make up dirty, too.”

She felt herself blush and he stroked a finger against her reddened cheek, “How is it you don’t blush while I’m fucking your mouth, but you blush when I refer to it afterwards?”

She shrugged as she stood up, her knees sore from the tile, “I’m a mystery even to myself.”

He chuckled as he stood up with her, “You ruined my plan to take you against the shower wall. I’m going to need at least twenty minutes to recharge.”

“Mmm, we’ll be out of hot water by then… might have to save that for later.”

“Later? Gods, woman.”

“What? This was make-up sex. I intend to spend all day with _making up_ sex – as in making up for a week’s worth of lost time.”

“I better eat my Wheaties,” he chuckled, planting a kiss on the crown of her head, “but it seems to me it wasn’t truly make-up sex if only one of us got off.

“True, but it was also apology sex, on my part. And it wouldn’t be a genuine apology if I made you reciprocate… so why don’t you let me worry about that?”

He arched an eyebrow at her as she pulled the shower head down, twisting until she found the massage setting. What compelled her to be so bold was beyond her understanding other than that Sandor seemed to bring out the part of her that didn’t worry about what anyone thought of her. It was such a freeing feeling.

His eyes went wide with shock and lust as he watched her aim the water stream at her clit. She tried to maintain a sexy face but she was so painfully swollen with want that she was panting almost instantly.

“Is this a thing?” he asked in wonderment.

“Mmhmm,” was all she managed by way of reply.

“You’ve done it before?”

She felt herself blush again, “Not in this shower, but at home, yeah.”

He shook his head, “Cock cages, shower heads, what the fuck else don’t I know about?”

She smiled at him even as she bit into her lower lip. It was both sad and satisfying that he was so inexperienced in the sex department. She knew he was insecure about his scars and had a tendency to push people away with his harsh words and angry scowl, but did other women really never look past his scars? Did they not know that underneath that crunchy candy coating he was a big softie?

Her musings were interrupted when Sandor took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking then licking then biting like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. She was chasing her pleasure but struggling to find it while keeping herself upright on trembling legs. Sensing her needs as he always seemed to do, he wrapped one arm around her waist and used the other to lift her thigh, opening her up in a way that immediately intensified her pleasure. He kissed her neck and shoulder so tenderly it contradicted the very kinky way they were enjoying each other this morning and put her over the edge within seconds as she cried out his name with her peak. He was generous enough to let her enjoy her orgasm before joking that she should have yelled out “Moen, Moen!” instead of “Sandor, Sandor.”

Never one to miss the opportunity for a joke she shrugged, “Well I once dated a guy named Moen, so…”

“Seriously?” he quirked an eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes, “No.”

“Smartass,” he teased, before returning to kissing her with just as much desire as he’d displayed when he first joined her in the shower.

She yelped when after only a minute or two of kissing he lifted her and pressed her against the tile wall, sheathing himself in her without delay and eliciting another yelp as she was stretched all at once in the most blissfully painful way. “Has it been twenty minutes already?” she asked rhetorically.

“No, I guess I charge up faster when I watch you come while screaming my name.”

For a change, she had no response other than to hold onto his thick shoulders while he fucked into her for all his worth. His cock was cruel while his mouth was loving – it was both rough and tender as everything with him was – and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

Her body was still over-sensitive from her first orgasm, so her second was barreling toward her at breakneck speed. Sandor was kissing and groaning and mumbling his trademark crude words of affection into her neck. The swell of emotion was like nothing she’d ever felt when coupling with a man, and she didn’t know what to call it other than love, though she dared not say that word out loud. She settled for something less likely to scare him off as she steered his mouth back to hers, “Gods I’ve missed you,” he smiled satisfied, but she felt the need to elaborate, “and not just your cock.”

The look he gave her was queer – as if he didn’t know what to say or knew what to say but was afraid to say it. Instead he opted to kiss her lips gently, and she was okay with that. When she came apart shortly after she was glad the shower water hid the tears she felt welling in her eyes. She held him tightly, hoping he knew how much he meant to her even though they’d not known each long. When his arms squeezed her waist with equal force as he spent himself, she was fairly certain the message had been received.


	13. Home Sweeter Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a bit more about Jaime's personal life.

Jaime was ready for another vacation by his fourth day back at work. He split his time between the PR department he ran at Casterly Enterprises and the rented office space of his congressional campaign headquarters. He was working fourteen-hour days and with his commute wasn’t getting home until after 9 pm. The only bit of leisure in his days was when Sansa served him a reheated plate of whatever she and Sandor had for dinner, then chatted with him about her day before he dragged his ass to bed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

It was 12:30 on a Thursday afternoon. Jaime was sipping his fourth cup of coffee of the day, when a friendly knock sounded on his office door. Jaime was ready to sneer at whoever was bothering him but when he yanked it open, he found his lips curling up into an involuntary grin.

“Hey man, good to see you,” Jaime invited his visitor into his office.

“Well you’d have seen me sooner only _just_ heard you were back from your _honeymoon…”_

Jaime dropped his head a bit, “Yeah, about that, Nate…”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Jaime. You know I get it… better than most. Just would’ve been nice to hear about it from you,” though his words were understanding Jaime could see the hurt in Nate’s eyes.

“Would it make you feel better to know you’re the hundredth person to say that to me in the past week?”

“Oh yeah? What do I win?”

Knowing they were safe from prying eyes and ears Jaime pulled him closer and planted a kiss on his pouty lips.

“That’s all?” Nate asked, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Ouch… well it’ll have to be enough for now, I barely have time to eat nowadays. How I let my father rope me into this…”

“Yeah, too bad some good friend with impeccable foresight didn’t warn you this would happen...”

“Did you just come here to say “I told you so”?”

Nate chuckled, “Nah, I needed to drop off some concepts. They’ll be on your desk soon I’m sure.”

“Great, there isn’t enough on my desk already,” Jaime answered sarcastically.

“If you’re looking for pity, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

“You know, you’re really insensitive for a queer.”

“I thought that’s what you liked about me.”

“Touché.”

There was an awkward pause while Jaime waited for the inevitable question to come. Nate didn’t disappoint, “So – Sansa Stark…”

“That’s Sansa Lannister to you,” Jaime made a half-hearted attempted at a smile.

“I thought you weren’t the type to let someone tie you down.”

“I’m not, luckily she isn’t the tying down type. Er, except in the bedroom, I’m getting a vibe she might be into that kind of thing…”

Nate quirked an eyebrow, “Getting a _vibe?_ You married her without knowing what she’s into? How well do you even know her?”

Jaime laughed, “I haven’t known her _long_ but actually we get along really well, kind of feels like I’ve known her for years.”

“Oh yeah? And does she know _you_ as well as you think you know her?”

Jaime sighed, “If you’re asking if she knows about my preferences, yeah, she does.”

“And she’s okay with it?”

“Yeah.”

Nate studied his eyes. It bothered Jaime how well he could read him, even when he thought all he was giving him was a blank stare.

“This reeks of the old lion.”

Jaime lowered his head, “I will neither confirm nor deny…”

“Jaime,” Nate took his hand, “When are you going to stop letting your father run your life? Career is one thing, but pressuring you to marry for political reasons – isn’t that pushing it too far?”

“Look, I know what it sounds like, but it’s not really the worst thing… you know part of me has always wanted to have a family, kids, someday…”

“Yeah, _someday_ , and I thought those kids would be adopted… with a partner, not a wife.”

“Well maybe it’s a little easier this way!” Jaime didn’t mean it to come out so acidic, but he wouldn’t insult Nate by trying to apologize.

Nate shook his head but wouldn’t push. They’d had this argument before, or more accurately this debate. Nate was an outgoing, creative type. He owned the design agency that did most of Casterly’s print and web ads. He was an art major in college. His parents were hippies. Though he had enough business-savvy to run a successful company, he ran in circles that were more progressive. By contrast, Jaime’s father would have literally castrated him if he knew where his dick had been. Cersei, his twin, didn’t even know the extent of Jaime’s homosexuality. She believed he was bi, that he preferred women but occasionally dabbled in men for a kick.

Nate sighed again, “It’s your life, man. I just want you to be happy.”

Jaime pulled him close again, “Look, this doesn’t change _anything_ …”

Nate rolled his eyes skeptically, so Jaime continued, “I mean it. Why don’t you come by Saturday night? Meet San, you’ll love her… she’s kind of a free spirit like you.”

With a resigned huff Nate agreed. Jaime saw him out, chatting about ad concepts while they walked to the elevator, where they shook hands firmly like a pair of everyday, heterosexual business partners.

\-----------------------------------------------

Sansa was snuggled up on the couch with Sandor watching a movie on Friday night. She leaned her back against his chest while filing her nails, with her legs up on the couch.

Since they’d been back from St. Lucia, she’d come to expect Jaime home some time around 9 pm, so she was surprised to hear the garage door opening just after seven, “Honey, I’m home,” he called out as he entered the house, as was his adorable habit.

He walked into the living room, loosening his tie and pouring himself a scotch before lifting up Sansa’s feet to plop on the couch before lowering them back down to his lap, “Ooh, nice color,” he remarked after seeing her freshly painted toenails.

“You like it? It’s called _strawberry sherbet_ ,” she wiggled her toes proudly.

“Yeah, and after we bought it at CVS she made us stop at the market to buy _actual_ sherbet,” Sandor grumbled.

“Hey! We needed bread anyway and you know it!”

“Yeah, because someone ate _six_ pieces of French toast this morning.”

Sansa gasped and Jaime chuckled, “Gods, San, where do you put it?”

“Same as all cute girls, it just disappears after I eat it.”

“Yeah, into the toilet,” Sandor murmured.

“Sandor!”

Jaime threw his head back laughing.

“Well on that lovely note, I’ll fix you some supper,” Sansa was about to get up when Jaime stopped her, saying he had eaten a late lunch at 3 pm.

“You need to stop working through lunch… it’s not good for your blood sugar,” Sansa scolded.

Sandor chimed in, “Nah, intermittent fasting is good for you, forces your body into fat burning mode.”

Jaime huffed, “Are you implying I need to lose weight?”

Sandor blinked at him, “What is this – the male equivalent of ‘does this dress make me look fat?’”

Sansa laughed and swatted Sandor’s thigh, “Stop before you give him a complex, then he won’t want to eat what we’re making for dinner tomorrow.”

Jaime frowned, “About that… I wanted to see if you’d be okay with some company tomorrow night.”

“Is it your nephew?”

“No.”

“Is it your father?”

“No.”

“Then yes, I’m okay with it,” she answered assuredly.

“Really? Those are the _only_ two people you’re worried about? What if I said it’s George W. Bush?”

“Hey, you know that dude likes to party… I can set aside my political beliefs for a few hours.”

“Alright, what about R Kelly?”

“How do you know I don’t like getting peed on?”

Jaime snorted, “OJ Simpson?”

“The glove didn’t fit.”

Jaime thought long and hard before his mouth split into a shit-eating grin, “John Travolta?”

Sansa’s face went serious, “Fuck you.” Jaime clapped victoriously.

Sandor looked perplexed, “What’s wrong with John Travolta – is it the Scientology shit?”

Sansa scowled, “No… and how is it you don’t know who Nicki Minaj is, but you know that John Travolta is a Scientologist?”

Sandor shrugged, “I watch A&E.”

Jaime turned to face Sandor, “After we sampled some local ganja in the islands, our lady-in-common went on an hour-long tirade about how overrated John Travolta is. Truly, as a gay man, it was like hearing someone say that Mother Teresa was kind of a bitch.”

“Ugh,” Sansa threw her arms up in frustration, “I have two words for you: _Face Off._ ”

Sandor shushed her, “Speaking of which, I haven’t heard a word of this this Nicholas Cage movie you made me watch.”

Jaime’s jaw dropped, “Oh, John Travolta is overrated but Nicholas Cage isn’t?”

Sansa shook her head, “I don’t like Nicholas Cage, I only like him in Raising Arizona.”

“What’s it about?”

“Who the fuck knows…” Sandor answered before Sansa could.

She rolled her eyes, “It’s about this real trailer trash ex-con who kidnaps a baby for his wife who’s barren…”

“Let me guess,” Jaime smirked, “nothing goes as planned.”

“Oh shut up, it’s a good movie.”

“No it’s not,” Sandor stated plainly.

“That’s because you’re not paying attention, you’re missing all the subtle jokes!”

“That’s because you won’t stop yapping!”

She swatted him again, “So who’s coming to dinner?” she asked perkily. Behind her Sandor mimed a gun to the head. Jaime had to swallow a chuckle.

Jaime started rubbing her feet, needing a way to busy his hands. He was a bit worried that Sansa wouldn’t react well to him inviting his lover over without asking her first. He knew he didn’t need her permission but wanted to ease her into his lifestyle at a comfortable pace.

Her reaction when he answered, _“His name is Nate”_ was the opposite of what he expected. She clapped her hands together like a teenager being gifted the keys to their first car.

“Ooh! Is he one of your boyfriends?”

Sandor’s ears perked up, though his face remained impassive as he stared at the TV.

“I don’t have _boyfriends-_ plural, but yeah, I’ve known him a few years, done some business together… I guess if there was anyone I’d classify as a boyfriend it would be Nate.”

Sansa was radiant, “What’s he like? Is he hot?”

Sandor stood up, “Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m getting a beer.” He stomped to the fridge, but Jaime could tell he wasn’t truly mad, just reaching the upper limit of how much gayness he could take in one evening. Jaime rather enjoyed the prospect of increasing his tolerance gradually over time. Despite the man’s sharp edges, he was surprisingly accepting of Jaime’s lifestyle, and never spoke to him as if he was a woman, as some straights tended to do, even if unintentionally, once they found out another man was gay.

Jaime turned back to Sansa, “Well he definitely falls into the _dark and mysterious_ category we both love but decidedly more cheerful than your beau.”

“So, he could be anyone…”

Jaime snorted, “He was an art major, he _loves_ to draw, and he’s really good at it. He actually drew that painting that hangs above my headboard.”

“Oh the sunset? I love that!”

“Yeah, though he usually does portraits. He gave me that as a gift knowing how much I love sunsets.”

“Aww… how thoughtful,” Sansa crossed her hands over her heart.

“Mmhmm, he’s also funny, in a dark kind of way…”

“Ooh, I like that.”

“No shit,” Jaime nodded toward Sandor who’d made his way back to the sofa with a bottle of Guinness.

“So is he,” Sansa seemed to be choosing her words carefully, “like you, or is he…”

“A flamer?”

She blushed and nodded.

“He’s like me.” She seemed reassured to hear that.

“So what did you guys have planned for dinner?”

“We picked up some filet mignon from Costco yesterday, and stopped at the farm stand to get baby potatoes, corn on the cob, and tomatoes. I’m going to make a nice caprese salad, and Sandor said he can make this really good glaze for the steaks, it’s made with mushrooms and red wine. Does Nate eat meat?”

“Is that a euphemism?” Jaime teased.

Sansa blushed and Sandor spoke to his beer bottle, “Should’ve gotten something harder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite chapters to write thus far, so if you hate it, please don't tell me. :)


	14. Pool Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which SanSan meets Nate, Sandor shucks corn - literally ;) - and people get wet in a totally PG way.

Sandor was inexplicably nervous as he set out the steaks on the counter and began shucking the corn while Sansa scrubbed the potatoes. He had assumed Jaime wouldn’t want him here for his _date night_ with his wife and boyfriend, but Jaime insisted he stay, assuring Sandor that Nate was a trusted, long-time friend (under NDA) and understood Jaime and Sansa’s arrangement, at least the broad strokes of it.

In truth, Sandor was less worried about the whole weird husband-boyfriend/wife-boyfriend thing, and more worried about how he would fit in with Jaime, Sansa, and Nate. To say that Sandor was uncomfortable in social situations was a monumental understatement. He did alright with just Sansa, and even Jaime and Sansa, because they pretty much just yapped at each other, and he’d occasionally offer a sardonic remark, which they for some reason found hilarious, then they’d go back to yapping with each other. But what if Nate tried to have a conversation with him? What if he asked about his past, or about his childhood? Even if Nate didn’t pry, Sandor was sure he was about to spend several hours feeling like the broken wheel on a shopping cart – the one that doesn’t turn when all the other wheels turn and manages to make the entire cart un-steerable.

Sansa seemed amused by his discomfort, confident that the night would be great.

“Did you ask Jaime if Nate prefers wine or beer?”

She rolled her eyes, “Wine.”

“Red or white? I mean, I know with steak we should serve red, but if he doesn’t like it—”

“Look babe, I know you’re nervous about your _first date_ with Nate, but Jaime said he’s really cool and down-to-earth, so you should try to relax.”

“Hah fucking hah… I’m not trying to impress Nate—”

“Sure sounds like it,” she mumbled as she began slicing a tomato.

“No, I just… fuck, Sansa, I’m not good at talking to people, you know that.”

She looked up at him like he’d just said the sweetest thing.

“What? You know I’m not…”

She hooked her arms around his neck, “You’re good at talking to me.”

“That’s because you like when I talk dirty to you… I’m afraid if I talk dirty to Nate it’ll give him the wrong impression.”

She laughed against his lips, “Just say things like that. You’re hilarious…”

“And how am I supposed to act? Like your bodyguard? Like your boyfriend? Like Jaime’s employee? I mean, what’s the dude expecting?”

“Jaime said he knows about our situation, so just be yourself.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Fine, then be someone else, just figure it out already, if I wanted this much drama I’d be with a woman.”

Jaime – who seemed to have the worst timing, walked into the kitchen just as she’d made that remark, “Don’t blame me, despite what those TV preachers say, gayness is not contagious.”

Sansa swatted him, “Make yourself useful hubby, and chill some chardonnay.”

“Aren’t we drinking red?”

“Hah!” Sansa belted, “Disaster averted!”

\--------------------------------------------

Nate was nothing like Sandor expected. He showed up at 6 pm and made himself at home, setting down a shopping tote on the kitchen island and pulling out a bottle of Johnny Walker Gold Label, a six pack of Heineken, and a bouquet of fresh cut flowers.

Sansa oohed at the flowers, “Are those for me?!”

“Nah,” Nate waved a hand, “They’re for Jaime. The beer’s for you, and the scotch is for the big guy.”

Sansa recognized the joke for what it was and swatted Nate’s arm, making Sandor feel a pang of jealousy. _Her swats are for me… well, and Jaime…_

She giggled and held out her hand, “Hi Nate, I’m Sansa.” Nate pulled her in for a hug instead before turning to Sandor, extending his hand with a smile on his face.

They shook hands, and Sandor appreciated the man’s grip. Most straight guys had weaker shakes. Nate immediately noticed the tattoo on Sandor’s forearm, “Army?”

“Yeah, five years… you served?”

“Nah, my brother did though – nearly gave my parents a coronary. They’re hardcore ‘war is not the answer’ types.”

Sandor nodded, “I’ve been there, trust me – it’s not.”

“Hah! That’s what my brother said. It was a real rude awakening for him. At least he came home with some funny stories. Nonetheless, I respect the hell out of anyone who’s served. You have my thanks, brother,” he clasped Sandor’s hand again with both of his.

Sandor had heard plenty of ‘thank you for your service’ over the years, and though he appreciated the gesture (though disliked the attention) it often came across as insincere. Like the way gas station attendants say ‘have a good day’ when they clearly don’t give a shit about your day. But something about the way Nate said it seemed really sincere. Even so, the best reply Sandor could utter was an “Um, thanks.”

Sansa put the beers in the fridge just as Jaime appeared from his office where he had taken an urgent call from Brienne. His eyes lit up when he saw Nate had arrived, “Hey!” he greeted him with a peck on the cheek, and Sandor resisted the desire to turn away. He wasn’t a homophobe, just generally uncomfortable by the PDA of strangers.

“You met Sansa and Sandor?”

“Yep, she’s even prettier than I expected and he’s even taller.”

Sansa frowned at Jaime, “Wow hubby, we’ll need to work on that – clearly you’re not adequately capturing my beauty,” she laced her fingers beneath her chin and fluttered her eyelashes. Nate laughed wickedly. It amazed Sandor how someone as gorgeous and confident as Sansa could say things like that and have them sound funny – even self-deprecating – instead of vain.

Sansa led Nate by the hand to the veranda, “Let the men handle the cooking, let’s talk.”

Sandor looked to Jaime, perplexed, “You’re the man?”

Genuine curiosity must have come across as sarcasm. “Ouch!” Jaime recoiled, smirking, “And we both are. I think San is just messing with him… or me… or both of us.”

Sandor nodded but happily distracted himself dicing shallots for the sauce and slicing the potatoes they’d toss with garlic and oil on the flat-top grill. He’d always enjoyed cooking. When he was young and broke, he enjoyed the challenge of making a meal out of whatever was on special at the market. When he was older and had money, he found it to be a relaxing hobby. He didn’t like the social scene, so going out to eat wasn’t appealing. He didn’t even want to risk being gawked at by some pimple-faced delivery driver, so he tended to cook and eat at home. He even cooked at Joffrey’s apartment while the kid was still sleeping off a bender at five in the evening.

Of course, he’d never gotten to cook in a kitchen as spacious and well-appointed as Jaime Lannister’s. He’d always marveled at how rich people had big, fancy kitchens even though they didn’t cook for themselves and had every event catered.

Lost in thought of all the dishes he’d like to make for Sansa, he didn’t realize that Jaime had followed her and Nate outside, not that he minded having been left alone. Carrying a conversation for more than five minutes was his idea of _work_ , and he needed to save his energy for the rest of the evening.

Looking for more to do inside he washed the dishes, knives, and cutting boards and even dried and put them away, but he was pretty sure if he killed any more time it would be obvious so he took a deep breath, grabbed a beer, and headed outside.

Judging by Sansa’s laughter, Jaime’s blush, and Nate’s grin he was pretty certain he walked in on the tail end of a joke at Jaime’s expense. Sansa wiped tears from her eyes as she bid him to sit next to her.

“Did I miss you making an ass out of Lannister? You know I wanted to be here for that part…”

Nate laughed heartily, “Don’t worry, I come on again at eight.”

Jaime feigned insult, “Yeah, yeah, just remember whose house you’re all at.”

“Hey, half of it’s mine now, hubby, and I call the patio as part of my half.”

“Oh yeah, then I call the garage.”

“I call the kitchen.”

“You _would_.”

Nate looked over at Sandor, “Are they always like this?”

He raised his eyebrows, “Pretty much.”

“I call the gym,” Jaime had added.

“I call the _pool_ ,” Sansa crossed her arms victoriously, knowing Jaime loved swimming.

“Fine, you can have it…” Jaime picked her up and flung her in the deep end of the pool.

Sandor and Nate bolted up, eyes wide, while Jaime clearly had second thoughts about his impulsive move. The seconds it took for Sansa to surface were John Carpenter-level suspenseful – all three men wondering whether she’d emerge amused or incensed. When her red hair bobbed to the surface her eyes were wide and her mouth gaped open in shock. A deafening silence hung in the air.

After tense seconds, her features suddenly relaxed, though she did not smile. She swam to the ladder, pulled herself out casually, and walked right up to Jaime, whose mouth was opening and closing like a fish.

“Payback’s a bitch, Lannister,” she said, eyebrow raised in challenge. She then turned and beamed at Sandor and Nate, “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go change into something dry,” she curtsied in an exaggerated manner before eying Jaime again as she walked into the house.

Jaime was still staring at the space she’d occupied, seemingly afraid to move. Finally he spoke, “I think _I_ need to go change into something dry myself.”

Sandor and Nate burst into laughter before the latter smacked Jaime on the back, “You better be nice to me Jaime, or I’m going to sick your wife on you.”

\---------------------------------------------

The evening was, much to Sandor’s surprise, actually pleasant. No one seemed to mind that he wasn’t particularly talkative, because the other three more than compensated. When he did occasionally crack a joke or share a funny tale, they all laughed openly, and Sansa would press a kiss to his cheek or lips. He would have been embarrassed by her open affection if it weren’t that Nate and Jaime were behaving similarly. By far the best part of the night was watching Jaime flinch every time Sansa moved too quickly near him; or looking terrified before taking a first sip of any drink she’d made him. He knew payback was coming, and Sandor knew that anticipation was always worse than the actual punishment.

Sandor didn’t even mind being the target of some straight-shaming, like when he manned the grill, sipping a mojito that Jaime had made him. After realizing his companions had fallen silent, he turned around suspiciously. All three were staring at him in awe until Nate said, “Don’t mind us, we’re just marveling at how, at a gathering that includes one woman and two queers, the straight guy is doing all the cooking.”

Jaime looked mildly insulted, “Everyone knows grilling is the manliest form of cooking. If we were inside, I’d totally be doing the cooking.”

Nate laughed, “Oh, like the time the fire department was called to my loft because you forgot about a lasagna?”

Sansa was in stitches, which earned her Jaime’s ire, “Stop laughing, I don’t see the woman-of-the-house helping with the cooking.”

“Hey, I washed potatoes, sliced tomatoes, and picked the basil,” she nodded assuredly.

“Wow, we’ve got a real Julia Child on our hands,” Nate teased.

“As it so happens, I can cook; I just prefer to watch Sandor do it.”

Nate chuckled, “Can’t blame you for that.”

Sandor felt his scars burning. He knew the guy was just making a friendly joke, but he wasn’t used to admiration from – well, _anyone_. Desperate to break the silence he called over his shoulder, “The dinner’s free, you gotta pay for the show.”

Unfortunately the joke only earned him more attention and laughter, and he worked to tune out everything that was said for the next five minutes to protect his own sanity.

\--------------------------------------------

Dinner was a hit, and Sandor couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. He rarely got to share his culinary creations with others. In fact never, until the past couple months with Sansa. He struggled not to blush as Sansa raved about all the things he could cook, listing off all the things he’d made for them in a real Bubba-Gump style, “Chicken parm, Szechuan pork, chili, creole sole, pepper steak…”

Jaime started laughing, earning him a glare from his roommates.

“What’s so funny, Lannister?” Sandor scowled, suspecting he was the butt of some joke.

“Nothing, I just thought Sansa made all those dinners.”

Sansa shook her head passionately, “I never took credit for anything other than reheating.”

Jaime offered an exaggerated frown, “I think I married the wrong San.”

“Hey!” Sansa yelped, “Next time you think you got the short end of the stick just remember,” she stretched her legs out to put her feet on his abdomen, “cute toes.”

Jaime placed a chaste kiss on the top of each foot.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Sansa pointed to a small cut on the bottom of her foot, “there’s something sharp on the bottom of the shallow end, did anyone ever break a glass near the pool?”

Jaime stood up quickly, over-protective of his pride-and-joy swimming pool. As he knelt by the side Sansa came over to point out the offending spot, “Right there, about three feet in from this side…”

She cast a devilish smirk over her shoulder to Sandor and Nate before shoving Jaime into the water. The three couldn’t contain their belly laughs as the man of the house walked over, head hung low, sopping wet and defeated.

“You win, wife.”

She sipped her beer triumphantly.

\----------------------------------------------

It was well after midnight and Sansa and Sandor were sharing a cigarette by the shore of the lake when Jaime came over, looking a bit nervous, “Hey, can I talk to you a minute?”

Sansa nodded, “Sure, what’s up?”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know… or ask you, I guess… Nate’s gonna spend the night, that cool with you?”

“I kind of figured he would,” Sansa shrugged.

Jaime’s eyes brightened, “Yeah? Because if it’s weird, or you need more time…”

She smiled reassuringly, “Jaime, seriously, it’s fine. He’s awesome by the way.”

“Thanks, San. He said the same about you, by the way…”

“Well _duh_ ,” she replied.

“Alright, well, we’re gonna head in. Goodnight,” he placed a kiss on her cheek, unbothered that Sandor’s arms were wrapped around her waist. He looked up at Sandor briefly, “Thanks for hanging out, I know it’s probably a little weird for you, but we had a great time. Goodnight, man.”

Sandor could only nod in response. Once Jaime was walking away, he smiled against Sansa’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're thinking this is way too perfect - yes, yes it is. This is my fantasy, people.   
> But I'll throw in some occasional angst because I know ups and downs help keep it engaging.


	15. Author Note / Poll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soo... hello and thanks to anyone who is reading. I originally imagined this as a 20ish chapter fic, relatively short and sweet and not delving much into character backstories. But so many people seem really invested in my characters that it's encouraging me to take this further. I have many ideas but want to solicit your feedback. I want this to remain a fun read first and foremost, so I don't want to go down avenues that stray too far from that core mission or that get too angsty. This "chapter" is actually some questions/ideas I have. If you're so inclined, use comments to LMK which you like, love, or hate.

Feel free to comment on any/all. Or none if you'd rather I just do ma thang.

1\. How much do you like scenes with the couples versus the triangle? (couples = JaimSa, SanSan, Naime; triangle = JaimSanSan) And I'm referring to both general scenes and smut scenes, though probably no Naime smut because I'm a straight woman and would not do it justice, unless a kind a reader wants to author for me and get credit :)

2\. Delving deeply into character backstories, especially Sandor's fucked up childhood - yea or nay?

3\. Sansa as kept woman who gets to stay home w/Sandor all day, or should we see her explore some interests, maybe even a part time job?

4\. Occasional angst i.e. SanSan fights, jealousy, insecurity - yea or nay?

5\. How much Jaimsa romance/smut do you want? Reminder SanSan is my main ship, but do you guys like the Jaimsa moments or are you cringing through them because you feel like Sansa is being unfaithful to Sandor?

6\. Jaime career/politics - do you want to see it explored or are you happy with it being the backdrop?

7\. Jaime and Sansa families - are you happy with occasional references to each's parents and siblings or would you like to see some Stark reunions and some awkward Lannister family dinners?

8\. Sansa past relationships - do we let sleeping dogs lie or do you want to see a run-in with one of Sansa's exes - like the "older man" she told Jaime about (can you guess who it is?) The closeted crazy bitch in me wants to see Sandor just go ballistic on anyone who ever hurt Sansa in this and other fics.

9\. Sandor... should we give him some buddies, like Bronn the bartender or maybe an old army bud who shows up? Or do you think his blossoming friendship with Jaime and potentially Nate will be enough?

10\. Non-Sansa female hookup for Sandor - yea or nay? OR F/F/M with SanSan and another female? Full disclosure: I'm irrationally angry when anyone but Sansa macks on Sandor. I think I'd have an easier time accepting my R/L husband fucking another woman than my fictional Sandor doing the same. Should I see a psychiatrist? - Don't answer that.

Thanks to those of you who care enough to weigh in, though please do so knowing I have veto power. 

And thanks to those who read this whether you comment or not. You make me feel normal.


	16. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun little chapter...

_What’s the benefit of her having a gay husband if I still get dragged along for dress shopping?_

Sandor had little experience in the shopping habits of women, other than knowing that Cersei Lannister could kill an entire day in Saks and come out with only one small shopping bag to show for it. The very brief time he worked as Cersei’s driver and personal security taught him that. If only at the time he appreciated it was infinitely better than his next assignment – babysitting Joffrey – would be.

As Sandor waited outside the fourth boutique for Sansa, he wondered how women could possibly enjoy _browsing._ Stores were for buying things. When you need a hammer, you go to Home Depot and pick from among their selection of hammers. You don’t stare at the hammers for an hour then decide to check out Lowe’s and Sears before making your selection. You don’t wonder if the navy-blue handle of one hammer is better than the midnight blue handle of another.

Even when Sandor started to treat himself to quality clothing and expensive suits it wasn’t because they looked better, it’s because cheaper clothes weren’t worth having tailored to fit his large frame, and nothing off the rack every fit him properly other than leisure wear.

When she walked out of the boutique empty-handed Sandor felt an intervention was needed, “Have you really not found _one_ dress that will work for the wedding?”

Sansa was dress shopping for a childhood friend’s wedding in two weeks. When she told him it would take place on a beach, he thought she’d pick up a sundress at Target, but apparently when rich people get married on the beach, they still expect their guests to be dressed for Cinderella’s ball.

She sighed, “A) I will be seeing people I haven’t seen in ten years. B) When you’ve got bright red hair and paper white skin, lots of things clash with your coloring, and C) I’ll be there with Jaime, who would look good if he wore a potato sack. I don’t want my husband to look prettier than me.”

“You’d look good in a potato sack, too,” Sandor said honestly.

“Awww!” Sansa turned to him and almost threw her arms around his neck before remembering they were in public. She contained her excitement, “Anyway, I found one that would work but it cost $799.”

Sandor pulled her to a stop, “You do realize you’re married into the family that’s said to shit gold?”

“It’s the _principle_ of it! I’ll wear it one day, at an outdoor wedding in August. I’ll be sweated through it before they play ‘Here Comes the Bride’.”

“Where was the dress – the one for $799?”

“811.”

“You just said it cost $799.”

She rolled her eyes, “No, the dress was at Boutique 811 – the first place we stopped.”

Sandor dragged a hand down his face, “You mean we just spent four _additional_ hours looking for a dress because you’re too cheap to spend your husband’s money?”

“I’m spending my own money!” Sansa clarified passionately.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. I’ll buy you the damn dress. Worth every penny so that I can get back into the air-conditioned car and then the air-conditioned house. You realize _I’ve_ been sweating through an $800 suit while waiting for you to make up your mind?”

“Don’t yell at me!”

“I’m not yelling.”

“Well then don’t raise your voice.”

“I’m not raising my voice,” he whispered.

She couldn’t contain her smile, “Fine. You can buy me the dress.”

“Good. And you can pay to get my suit dry cleaned.”

“Deal. But I’m paying for the shoes.”

“Fine. Wait – please tell me you already found a pair you like.”

When she looked to the ground in shame he knew he'd not be so lucky.

…

Not ten minutes after plopping into the patio chairs with a couple ice cold beers the front door swung open, “Yoo-hoo… Sansa? Sandor? You here?”

“We’re out back Cersei,” Sansa shouted. Sandor’s head swiveled around as if looking for someplace to duck for cover.

Cersei’s stiletto heels clicked through the house and out to the veranda, where she offered a smile that did not meet her eyes. Sansa wondered it was stifled rage or Botox that kept the upper half of her face so stationary.

The beer must have already gone to Sansa’s head as she blurted out the first thing she thought, “How come you don’t have to take your shoes off in the house?”

“Because Jaime knows not to say anything to me about it. I’m his older sister, for one, and I’m not above gelding a man, for two.”

“I thought you were twins?”

“Yes, but I was born three minutes before him. Are you going to offer me a cigarette?” she nodded toward Sansa’s pack on the rattan side table.

“Oh – of course, here,” Sansa held out the pack, even lighting the cigarette for Cersei, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Of course I smoke. If I didn’t, I’d be a homicidal nutcase… or fat… speaking of, do you have anything less… _caloric?”_ Cersei pointed her chin at Sansa’s near-empty bottle of Guinness as if it were a dead rat.

“Uh – sparkling water?”

Cersei blinked at her.

“Umm… Stoli on ice?”

Cersei offered another half-smile, “Now you’re thinking dear… lots of ice.”

Sandor jumped out of his seat, “I’ll get it.”

“Ahh, good man,” Cersei said, her tone somewhere between appreciative and patronizing.

Cersei sat down opposite Sansa in the space Sandor had just vacated, “Just wait until you’re thirty, dear… your metabolism will take a nose-dive and every beer will cost you 2 hours of cardio.”

“Eww… I love beer, but I _hate_ exercising, that’s gonna be tough…” Sansa answered with genuine concern, earning a rare chuckle from Cersei.

Sandor returned with Cersei’s drink and looked side to side between the two women before pivoting on his feet to head back inside where it was safe.

“Sandor,” Cersei called.

He pivoted back around, “Yes?”

“I need you to drive the Cayenne back to Joffrey’s place. He’s throwing a fit over it. Tom will drive you back home.”

He nodded and went back inside. Sansa wondered what this meant for her own mode of transportation but didn’t think Cersei was the right person to ask.

Cersei looked back at her, “So, how’s married life treating you?”

Sansa smiled, “Actually, it’s pretty good…”

“Pretty good? Wow, you should write for Hallmark…”

“Oh, I—”

“I’m just fucking with you Sansa.”

“Oh, right.”

“So my brother’s treating you well?” It didn’t seem like Cersei cared all that much, as she stared into the glass she was presently swirling.

“Yes, Jaime is wonderful. So attentive and—”

“That’s good. Very good. Oh – I almost forgot. A little belated wedding present.”

“Cersei, you shouldn’t have!” Sansa blushed as she reached into the gift bag that Cersei had produced from a tote that probably weighed more than its owner.

When she pulled back the tissue paper, she saw it was a photo of her and Jaime from their wedding day, set in a Waterford crystal frame. Sansa stared down at it in wonderment. It was a bit like looking at those sickeningly sappy couples in engagement ring commercials, except they were the couple. Except their happiness and ease looked authentic. Sansa remembered it had been taken just as they walked out of Jaime’s front door – _their_ front door – to leave for the courthouse. He had made a joke when he saw that she wore a pink dress instead of white.

_“I wish I’d known it was okay to wear pink today.”_

_“Why? Do you have a pink suit?” she asked, actually curious._

_He leaned in to whisper into her ear, “What, because I’m gay you assume I own a pink suit?”_

She had giggled unabashedly and at that moment the photo was snapped. That millisecond, when captured on film, looked like Sansa was smiling widely while Jaime whispered a sweet-nothing into her ear, or perhaps had just pressed a tender kiss to her cheek.

It made Sansa suddenly see her and Jaime as others probably did – happy and in love. She smiled to herself, unexpectedly pleased to have this secret – yes, she and Jaime were happy, but it was nobody’s business why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I like looking at fancy houses on realtor.com to dream about what will never be, and this is actually the house that I picture as being Jaime and Sansa's... though I imagine a it having an outdoor pool and patio as we all know.  
> https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/1058-Pines-Lake-Dr-W_Wayne_NJ_07470_M58352-80614?view=qv  
> Though Lannisters can def afford to spend more than $1.5M on a house, and Jaime definitely doesn't mind splurging on luxuries, I don't think a single guy needs more house than this, and I think Sandor would feel totally out of place in a house the size of Buckingham Palace
> 
> So pic 1 is where SanSan smoke  
> 5 is where SanJaimSa snuggled while watching Raising Arizona  
> 10 is the main kitchen where Sandor works his culinary magic  
> 18 is the bathtub where someday Jaimsa will do it.  
> 19 is Jaimes BR, 20 is Sandor's, 21 is Sansa's  
> 23 is the ground floor kitchen/bar where Jaime made mojitos and Sandor got Cersei her vodka on the rocks.
> 
> Yes, I know I have a problem. And in case the owners of said house ever come across this posting, please take all this as a compliment.


	17. Our Hang-ups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "for fuck’s sake, you two are gonna be the death of me"  
> (I suck at summaries, so you're gonna get an excerpt from here on out)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself for a bit of a roller coaster ride, emotionally speaking.
> 
> And warning for very mild mention of past domestic abuse.

Sansa could tell Jaime’s long hours were taking their toll. He continued to come home after 9 pm most nights and put in at least five hours on both Saturday and Sunday, and they were not even yet in the height of campaign season – how much worse would it get?

It troubled Sansa to not know how she could help. A _real wife_ would be able to drag him away from his work for a night out, or stop by the office with lunch, or lovingly nag him about the hours he kept. But did Sansa have the right to do those things? Would Jaime appreciate those gestures or think she was over-stepping? Jaime hadn’t been exerting any _authority_ as her husband. He didn’t question her about how she spent her days, and he hadn’t taken advantage of his rights to her bed – a fact which had Sansa equal parts relieved, confused, and disappointed. She was relieved to not have to broach the whole _“Sorry Sandor, I’m sleeping in Jaime’s room tonight”,_ but she was confused and disappointed because it made her wonder if Jaime had been dissatisfied with their honeymoon romp. Or was he waiting for her to initiate their amorous activities? He had been such a gentleman; even on their honeymoon he didn’t make her feel obligated to sleep with him. Was he falling asleep each night sad and lonely, wishing she would come to him? But if she went to him, would it bother Sandor? It was one thing to begrudgingly go to her husband’s bed, but if she seemed over-eager to be with Jaime would it cause Sandor to feel insecure? It seemed there was no right answers.

The Friday night after Cersei stopped by, Sandor was watching a baseball game in the den. Sansa found Jaime sitting out by the pool, sipping a scotch and staring up at the stars. She hoped to broach the subject with him, but Jaime looked troubled when she found him outside, and she lost her nerve.

“Hey,” Sansa said.

“Hey,” Jaime answered. His voice sounded tired but welcoming. She took the seat next to him, taking a sip out of his glass and handing it back to him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He chuckled, “You might want a refund.”

She shrugged, “My husband’s rich, I can risk it.”

He smiled but was silent for so long she thought he wasn’t going to speak… but then he did, “Just wondering if it’s all worth it.”

“Oh…”

He realized how she’d interpreted him, “No, San, not you! I meant the campaign. It all seemed like such a good idea at first, but now… I don’t know… I guess once it’s over with things will even out again.”

“Will they?”

He stared at her, with a hint of embarrassment in his eyes.

She clarified, “I’m not saying they _won’t_ , I’m just asking – is being a Congressman less stressful than running for Congress?”

He stared into his scotch, “Will you think I’m an idiot if I admit I never even thought about that?”

“No, you married me, so you can’t be an idiot.”

He chuckled, “Every once in a while, I do something impulsive and it _doesn’t_ backfire on me.”

“So this was impulsive, deciding to run I mean?”

“For me? Yes. For my father? No – he’d been planning it for years.”

“Well, with all due respect to the Old Lion, you’re the one working 70 hours a week, not him.”

“Hah! Believe me, he works 70 hours a week. The man is like the Energizer Bunny mixed with Ebenezer _Scrooge_.” 

Sansa giggled at the comparison, “Doesn’t mean you need to follow in his footsteps…”

“Yeah, try telling him that. He wanted a clone, had to settle for a son.”

“So you felt obligated to run because it’s what he wanted for you? What he never did himself?”

“No… I mean, partly. But it also seemed like a good idea at the time. And it still does… most days.”

“In what way?”

Jaime sighed, taking a deep dip from his scotch, “I’m not naïve and I’m not pure-hearted, Sansa. I know getting a Congressional seat is all about being able to…”

“Influence legislation in a way that benefits your family’s business ventures?”

“Of course,” he looked not the least bit ashamed, “but I figured I could also do some good. Help causes I care about.”

“Such as?”

“Justice system reform. Gender equality. Fiscal conservatism. Just to name a few.”

Sansa tried not to let her shock show on her face, but she could tell from Jaime’s smirk that it had.

“Wow…” she said, but only to break the silence. She moved to sit on Jaime’s lap and leaned against his shoulder, taking another small sip of his scotch, “I think you’re even better than your father. You’re the Energizer Bunny _without_ the Scrooge.”

“Glad you think so, but I’m a very greedy man, wife.”

Sansa started chuckling and Jaime looked almost insulted, “You don’t believe me?”

“Oh it’s not that, I’m just thinking about how your dad kinda looks like Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Which version?”

“The George C. Scott one, only hotter.”

Jaime was silent, mouth agape, as Sansa buried her head in his shirt to hide her shame.

“Okay, where do I start? A) Should I interpret your choice of words to mean that you find George C. Scott at least a little hot? and B) Do I even want to know whether you think my dad is hot?”

“Oh fuck it!” she exclaimed, “Yes to both. What can I say? I find power sexy and say what you will about George C. Scott and Tywin Lannister, but both exude a certain powerfulness… a commanding presence… and piercing eyes, the kind that can undress a girl…”

“Wow. All my life I wanted to be like my dad, but I must say, it was never for this reason…” he shook his head and stared out into the night.

She chuckled and whispered into his ear, “You have your father’s eyes, you know.”

“Oh yeah? And what about his commanding presence?”

She scrunched her face while shaking her head.

“Ouch!”

She giggled, “What you have is even better; you put people at ease with your presence.”

“Fuck that, I want to exude power,” he puffed out his chest in caveman style.

“Hah! Keep practicing, you’ll get there.”

He was staring at her now, curiously.

“What?”

He looked away as if embarrassed, “Just realizing how good I feel now, and how shitty I felt five minutes ago.”

Sansa felt herself blush under the subtle compliment, “That’s what wives are for.”

“Come to bed with me,” he blurted out, then looked down at his lap as if expecting a refusal.

She nodded and stood up from his lap, trying to swallow the guilt that rose in her throat.

When Jaime stood his legs wobbled beneath him, and he had to brace himself against the table.

“Whoa… how much have you had to drink?”

His eyes struggled to focus on the bottle of scotch, “Let’s see, I’m not great at math, but roughly this much,” he touched the neck of the bottle, “minus this much,” he pointed to the line where amber liquid met empty space.

“Wow, that’s half a bottle. Any you’ve been home less than two hours. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He let her lead him by the hand into the house and straight to the master bedroom. She knew he was drunk when he disrobed and got under the covers, bypassing his evening hygiene routine.

“Um, I’m just gonna say goodnight to Sandor.”

He raised his arm with a thumbs-up.

Sansa found Sandor still on the couch, engrossed in the game, and sat down beside him, “Wow, you’ve been watching this for like two hours, how haven’t you fallen asleep yet?” She always gave him crap about how boring baseball was.

“It’s a thinking man’s game,” he answered defensively.

“Then why are _you_ watching it?” she teased.

“Hah fucking hah.”

She chuckled, but the nervousness behind it was plain. He pried his eyes away from the TV, “What’s wrong?”

“Uh… I just wanted to let you know I’m going to sleep in Jaime’s room tonight.”

“Oh. Alright,” his attempt at hiding his disappointment was admirable but ineffective.

“I just—”

“It’s alright, Sansa. You don’t need to explain, remember?” he pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was sincere but chaste, and made her heart hurt.

“Alright. Sorry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” his eyes were back on the TV.

She changed into her PJs, brushed her teeth, and returned to the master bedroom, finding Jaime in the middle of the bed. He lifted the covers for her but to her surprise when she got under them, he only pulled her to his chest, his chin resting above her head. A few minutes later he was asleep.

\--------------------------------------

Sansa slowly drifted into consciousness on Saturday morning to the sound of deep male voices downstairs. Remembering which room she was in she shot up, fear gripping her chest. As she flew down the stairs, images of Sandor with Jaime’s neck in his large hands flew into her head. She practically ran into the kitchen and instead found a rather domestic scene.

Sandor was sitting at the island, drinking his coffee, while Jaime was at the stove, sliding a pan back and forth. Just as he came into Sansa’s view, he flipped an omelet in the air, landing it perfectly back in the pan. Sandor grumbled, “Fine, I owe you ten bucks.”

“What’s going on?” Sansa asked, as if it weren’t obvious. Her brain was still having a hard time processing that the men were acting completely amicable toward one another.

“Morning, wife… oh cute pajamas!” he nodded toward the black shorts and cami she was wearing. Sansa suddenly felt exposed, wising she’d grabbed a robe. Sandor eyed her up and down and nodded in agreement.

_What the fuck? Am I dreaming?_

“I’ve been fleeced,” Sandor rasped, “After all Nate’s talk about how Jaime can’t cook, the fucker tells me he can make a good omelet and flip it without a spatula. I bet him ten bucks he’s full of shit.”

“Wow – ten bucks, that’s a pack of cigarettes.”

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled regretfully into his coffee.

Jaime was still beaming proudly over his omelet, “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

Sansa and Sandor giggled, earning a confused look from Jaime, “What?”

Sansa poured a cup of coffee, “But are they _useful_ talents?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” she rolled her eyes, just noticing the clock on the coffee maker flashed 6:57, “How are you up already? And why aren’t you hungover?”

Jaime shrugged, “I don’t get hangovers, it’s like my superpower.”

Sansa and Sandor laughed again.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing… the first night Sandor and I hung out we told each other about all our useless talents, though some are actually quite useful.”

For the next five minutes they explained and sometimes demonstrated their respective useless talents. When Sandor told Jaime, with a hint of pride in his voice, that Sansa can recite the alphabet backwards, Jaime covered his ears, “Don’t do it!! You’ll undo more than thirty years of progress!”

Sansa and Sandor started at each other, perplexed. Jaime removed his hands from his ears, “Sorry… I had dyslexia as a kid.”

“Really?” Sansa’s shock was apparent.

Jaime nodded, “Yeah, found out in 2nd grade. My father got me special tutors, even worked with me himself at night before bed and on weekends. It’s fine now, but I don’t want to tempt fate by hearing the alphabet backwards.”

“Wow… so you can read okay now?” Sandor asked with genuine curiosity.

“Still not a fast reader, still don’t like to do it, but yeah, I can read perfectly.”

“Jaime – don’t you have to do a lot of reading for work?” Sansa asked, astounded.

“Yeah, and I hate it. I actually use speech-to-text software for a lot of things, but seriously, it’s all good now.”

Sansa’s heart imagined little Jaime Lannister struggling to read, and his intimidating father keeping him up all hours of the evening to make him work at it. She frowned and threw her arms around Jaime, leaning against him where he sat on one of the stools at the island. She planted a big kiss on his cheek, “That must have been awful.”

Jaime smirked at her, “Ahh… learning disabilities what gets you hot? Well I also have a touch of ADD.”

“I knew it!” she said victoriously, smacking him on the shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“The way you just blurt things out sometimes. And you never are content to just sit in silence, you always have to talk.”

“Umm… are you saying I talk too much?”

Sandor answered “Yes” at the same moment Sansa answered “No” – the big man earning himself one of her trademark swats.

Sansa shook her head, “So how do you, like, _function_?”

He shrugged, “I was lucky. The dyslexia was caught early, which is critical. Ironically you can thank my dad’s ego for that. And the ADD is pretty mild. I pretty much just structure my day differently than other people. Instead of working on one thing and finishing it before moving onto another thing, I do multiple things at the same time. Multitask.”

“What do you mean your dad’s ego?”

“When in 2nd grade I couldn’t already read _War and Peace_ my father knew there were only two possibilities. Either I wasn’t his son, or I had a diagnosable condition. There is no way Tywin Lannister could accept his son just being slow, like the teachers insisted,” Jaime’s tone was resentful.

“Wow, so for once Tywin being a dick actually paid off,” Sandor said.

“Sandor!” Sansa scolded.

Jaime grimaced, “Dude, please don’t ever put the words ‘Tywin’ and ‘dick’ in the same sentence.”

Sansa blushed beet red, “Not cool, Lannister. Not cool.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “I’d ask, but I have a feeling I don’t want to know…”

Jaime smirked at his wife before rising, “Alright lovebirds, I’m gonna get to work.”

Sansa frowned, “Can’t you take a day off Jaime? You need to unwind.”

He waved off her concern, “I’ll unwind next weekend at the beach. Got a lot to get done. Don’t fret over me, dear.”

“Alright, if you insist. Go on then, we’ll clean up.”

Jaime snorted, “You mean Sandor will clean up?”

Sansa smiled mischievously, “What can I say? I like watching him at the stove _and_ at the sink.”

Jaime winked, “Well I can’t blame you for that,” realizing Sandor could hear him he stuttered, “uh… sorry, man.”

Sandor grumbled but was a good sport, “It’s alright, I’m used to being the butt of jokes. At least when you two do it they’re actually funny for a change.”

\--------------------------------------

Jaime worked all day, leaving Sandor and Sansa to their own devices. They went to the market, did some laundry (arguing over the right way to fold t-shirts), and cleaned – which didn’t take long since Sandor and Jaime were both neat freaks. Sansa berated herself knowing every crumb, every piece of clutter, and every coffee ring on the table was her doing. Jaime emerged briefly at lunch time but otherwise was holed up in his office.

By midafternoon, Sansa and Sandor were lounging by the pool sipping Coronas with lime, which Sandor grumbled about, but Sansa insisted it was too hot for Guinness.

Sandor, as usual, was content to nap in the lounger but Sansa bit her lip nervously, wanting to talk about what had been on her mind, but simultaneously afraid of bringing up a subject that Sandor might not welcome. She finally steeled herself, forcing a casual tone into her voice, “I’m kinda worried about Jaime.”

Sandor turned to look at her, “Why?”

“He’s working way too much. I don’t think he’s happy.”

Sandor quirked an eyebrow, “I dunno what Jaime you’re talking about, but he seems pretty fucking happy to me. Almost annoyingly chipper most days.”

She scoffed, “Chipper is his default setting, but last night—”

Sandor growled, “I don’t want to hear about that.”

“No! I don’t mean that. And last night we only slept together. I mean sleep, literally.”

The look of relief on Sandor’s face was instantaneous. After the honeymoon Sandor and Sansa had come to an understanding. Sandor knew he had no right to be mad at her for being romantic with Jaime, but he didn’t want to hear about their bedroom activities. Since Jaime and Sansa had no bedroom activity since their honeymoon, it hadn’t been a problem.

“So what makes you think he’s not happy – just cause he’s working so much? I think he thrives that way – a workaholic, like his father.”

“Maybe to a point, but I don’t think it’s giving him any joy. Maybe his work at Casterly does, but not the campaign.”

Sandor shrugged, “Well, that’s the price you pay I guess.”

“Yeah. I just feel like I should be helping him somehow. Sharing the burden. But I don’t know anything about political campaigns. I don’t even like politics. But I want to be supportive, help relieve some of his stress, isn’t that what wives are supposed to do?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

She threw a towel at him, “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Well, just be there for him when he needs to talk. A friendly ear; a shoulder to cry on and all that shit.”

“Wow, thanks Dr. Phil.”

“Hey, you’re the one asking for advice. I’m a man of actions, not words.”

“Mmm… don’t I know it,” she extended her leg across to his lounge chair, stroking her foot against the top of his thigh.

He growled at her, the deep timber of his voice sending a jolt straight to her core, “Watch yourself, girl, or I’ll show you how _this man_ likes to relieve stress,” he leaned over to kiss her but his words made all the self-doubt and guilt that had been accumulating over weeks swell up and break through the surface. She hated looking weak but couldn’t stop the tears that flooded down her cheeks. She darted inside, ignoring Sandor’s confused voice calling after her. To make matters worse, just as she got to the top of the stairs Jaime emerged from his office, noticing her tears as she flew past him into her bedroom. She shut and locked the door and threw herself on her bed, hating how she was acting like a sullen teenager but too upset to do anything about it.

Jaime’s worried voice called through the door, “San – what’s the matter?”

“Go away!” _Oh Gods, now I really sound like a teenager._

“What’s wrong?!” Jaime asked.

Sandor’s loud footfalls signaled her to his presence in the hall. She heard the two men whispering outside her door. It was mortifying and only made the tears fall more freely.

“Sansa,” Sandor’s deep voice called, “Will you please talk to us? Talk to Jaime if you want, I’ll leave.”

 _Oh Gods!_ His words made her feel even shittier. She didn’t want Sandor to think she was closer to Jaime than him. Yes, she and Jaime talked a lot, but she valued Sandor’s words just as much, if not more, because they were rare and precious. Today he tried to help her, and she called him Dr. Phil. _I’m such a bitch._ And last night Jaime needed her – needed the comfort only a lover can give, and she just went to sleep. Why did either of them like her? She wasn’t dumb; she knew she was pretty and fun, but so are lots of girls. What made her think she’d be a good wife to Jaime – a Type A businessman with political aspirations? What made her think she was special enough for Sandor to want to be with her even though it meant sharing her with another man? She felt like a fraud, and it sucked.

Jaime spoke again, “San, do you want to talk to Sandor alone?”

“No! Go away! I don’t deserve either of your sympathy! I’m a terrible wife and a terrible girlfriend and a terrible fucking person so just leave me alone!” She knew she was in full-on tantrum mode but didn’t even care. This was who she was – let them see it. She was an over-thinker and internalizer and it was an ugly combination. She would swallow everything down for months – sometimes years – but eventually it would bubble up. Some small corner of her brain recognized the pattern of self-blaming. It’s why her abusive relationships lasted way too long – she always thought she was the one to blame, always making excuses for the guy – _“Well yeah, he lost his temper, but I was pushing his buttons.”_

But that wasn’t the case this time. Sandor and Jaime were as perfect as two men could be. This time, the self-blame was well deserved. She almost wished they’d yell at her, be pricks once in a while.

Jaime spoke again, “Can you at least tell us what’s wrong? We don’t need to talk about it now if you don’t want.”

 _Ugh, even when I’m being a temperamental nutjob he’s still so bloody nice!_ She stomped to the door and swung it open so fast the two men on the other side jumped back.

“Stop being so fucking considerate, that’s what’s wrong. And you,” she pointed at Sandor, “stop being so fucking understanding.”

They both just blinked at her for long moments before Sandor formed words, “That’s why you’re mad?”

“Yes! I mean no! I’m not mad at _you_ , I’m mad at myself, and it would just be easier if you guys would be jerks because then I could be mad at you instead.”

“I can be a jerk,” Sandor offered helpfully.

Jaime rolled his eyes at him, “This isn’t about us being too _nice_. Sansa what is bothering you?”

The tears she’d briefly vanquished were back with a vengeance, “I don’t know how to please one of you without hurting the other, and as a result I’m hurting both of you.”

Jaime shook his head, “You’re not hurting me.” Sandor nodded his agreement.

“Jaime, you are working so hard. I should be available to you, not just as a friend,” she felt herself blush. “But if I throw myself into your arms or into your bed, I’m worried that,” she turned to Sandor, “well, you know. And I know, Sandor, I know you said you’ve come to accept it, but I can tell it still bothers you…”

Jaime started to speak but for a change Sandor spoke over him, “Yeah, picturing you two… _together_ … it bothers me. In a caveman-possessive kinda way. But I’ve been thinking a lot, and I would’ve told you if I knew this was bothering you, but…” Sansa could see the confidence drain from his eyes. Jaime looked away, leaning against the doorframe to give Sandor some breathing room.

“What Sandor?” she asked gently.

He ran a hand through his long black hair, “Look, I guess it’s not a surprise that I haven’t had a lot of girlfriends. This is part of it,” Sandor pointed to his scars, “but it’s also this,” he tapped his temple.

“Sandor, you’re smart and funny—”

“No, I don’t mean that. It’s my fucking insecurity, I guess. I torpedo every relationship before it even has a chance, because I’m a fucking coward. Because I’m not fucking whole and normal. I don’t go out on ‘dates’ at fancy restaurants. I’m not taking anyone to an opera or even a fucking night club. I don’t have family to bring a girl home to. I don’t want to have kids someday. I don’t want to go house hunting. I don’t want to spend Christmas with her parents… It’s not me, and the few times I tried changing even a little bit for someone it made me so fucking uncomfortable that I couldn’t run away fast enough…”

Sandor took a deep breath, but Sansa knew more was coming, “When Jaime laid out his terms, I told you it was like my prayers being answered, and at the time I just meant because I’d get to continue seeing you, cause Gods know I was addicted to you from the start. I mean scary addicted, like, I’d quit cigarettes and whiskey before I’d quit you. I’d give up red meat and beer and baseball and hockey and every other fucking thing I like before I’d give you up…”

“…but I realize now that isn’t the only way this _arrangement_ is a Godsend. Because if it were just you and I, normal people meeting in a coffee shop, going on a date, and then another date… I’d have found a way to fuck this up, probably on purpose. And if I somehow didn’t, you’d eventually get tired of me. You’d be insulted when I refused to go to you with your friend’s wedding; or go on a double date with you… or whatever. And the first time it would be okay, and maybe even the second and third and fourth time, but eventually you’d get tired of giving up on living just to be with me. And I don’t ever want to lose you. Period. And when I had this realization, this fucking epiphany, all the sudden the idea of you being with Jaime didn’t bother me. And I’m sorry that picturing you two together – in _that_ way – makes me angry, but I promise it’s just instinct. It’s the hardwiring that’s in every man… well, except Lannister, apparently,” he hooked his thumb toward Jaime.

His head dropped and he looked exhausted by his confession and was clearly done talking about it. As if sensing what he needed was a distraction Jaime grinned, “You picture us having sex?”

Sandor snorted, “I don’t _try_ to, but yeah. But you’re not very good at it and your pecker’s too small.”

Sansa laughed so loud she startled her companions. She offered apologetic eyes to Jaime. Sandor lifted his head up just enough to look into her eyes and wink, “You’re always perfect, by the way.” She smiled and reached out for his hand, holding it tenderly in hers.

Jaime couldn’t help but laugh even if at his own expense. Once he had composed himself, he sighed, “Well I doubt I can top Sandor’s speech, but as a politician I need to at least try. You seem to be operating under the impression that I’m not happy with you; that you’re letting me down, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I like you Sansa, and I’m attracted to you, but I’m bone tired every night. You’re not _falling down on your duty_ ,” he said the words sardonically. “And beyond that, I can’t tell you how much it means just to come home to something other than an empty house. I didn’t realize until you guys moved in how shitty it used to be walking into a big empty house. The truth is, I didn’t let myself think on it, because then I’d realize I was lonely, and that would mean admitting that I wanted something I’d never have. It was easier to tell myself I didn’t want a family, because the only family I could ever imagine having would be a wife who didn’t know who I really am. I’d come home and have to pretend to be someone I’m not. And to allow myself some joy would mean being unfaithful to her…”

“And I know I’m a coward for living in the closet. I mean it’s the 21st fucking century. But coming out would mean living a lie, too… because then people would _still_ paint me into a corner. They’d expect some rainbow-flag-waving, ultra-left-wing, pink-shirt-wearing fag. The truth is I’m a greedy man, but at least I admit it. I want to have my cake and eat it too. I like wrapping my arms around a woman, taking her out dancing, making love to her. I want to have kids someday, and I want them to be half me and half my wife, not half mine, or _his,_ and half anonymous egg donor. But I also want a kindred spirit; someone like my Nate, someone I can not just love but be _in love_ with.”

Sansa smiled, taking his hand as well, “You are a greedy man, hubby, but you’re also a good man, and you deserve to have everything you want. And you,” she turned to Sandor, “you deserve to have a relationship and not be forced into doing things that make you uncomfortable; but for your sake I hope you consider that maybe some day you will enjoy some of those things. Don’t write them off for good, but I promise I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She sighed, “And I guess since you guys have been brave and confessed your thoughts and wants to me, I should do the same…” She looked down at the large hand in each of hers – one a dark olive with hairy knuckles, the other golden and soft. Both strong and masculine but in very different ways.

“I have a tendency to get stuck in my head, which I know seems contrary to my carefree exterior. I feel like a phony sometimes – the cool girl on the outside while on the inside I’m a big knot of doubt and fear, always wondering what I’m doing wrong. Blame my parents, I guess… they had such high expectations of me, and yet were never really strict. Arya and Rickon took advantage of their leniency, but I’ve always been a people pleaser, so I lived every day wondering if I was pleasing my parents or if I was letting them down in some way. On the occasions my father looked disappointed in me it was worse than being yelled at or slapped. I wanted to know what I’d done wrong so I could fix it…”

“I’m always my harshest critic, and I make excuses for other people even if it means putting the blame on myself. I did a lot of introspection after my last relationship and I think on a subconscious level I wanted to be punished, or perhaps just thought I deserved it. The guys I dated were the type who had no qualms about letting me know what I was doing wrong, even when it _wasn’t_ wrong. Telling me the dress I wore was too short – for a _pool party._ I wouldn’t say “fuck you, every other girl is walking around in a string bikini” – instead I convinced myself he was right, that all the other girls were slutty and I shouldn’t lower myself to their level. The first time a guy hit me—”

Sandor’s head whipped up, “Someone hit you?”

She smiled sadly at him, “It was a long time ago.”

“What’s his name?”

She rolled her eyes, “Sandor, your protectiveness is sweet, but that’s not the point and I’d rather you not hunt down some guy who was a jerk 10 years ago, he’s probably worked on his issues.”

Sandor shook his head, “Cunts like that never change; trust me, I know.”

An odd expression passed over Jaime’s face, but he looked back to Sansa, “You were saying?”

She smiled and shrugged, “It doesn’t matter, you get—”

“No,” Sandor said, “you should be able to talk about this.”

She squeezed his hand, “Well the first time it happened, it actually felt good. Not in a masochistic kinda way, but like, it felt real and pure and clear. It was like, ‘I did something wrong, and he made me know it in no uncertain terms, and now we can move on’. Only over time it got harder and harder to figure out what I did wrong, and thankfully I was smart enough to eventually know that I’d done nothing wrong and that it was his issue, not mine…”

“And I don’t want your pity. Seriously. My sister Arya taught me how to defend myself and I’ve already put it to use a couple times.”

Sandor’s eyes lit up, “Oh yeah?”

Sansa felt herself grin proudly, “Yup, snapped a guy’s wrist back when he grabbed my ass at a club. Might have broken it, definitely sprained it. And hit a guy in the nose in a parking deck, and that was _definitely_ broken.”

Sandor grinned from ear to ear, “That’s my girl.”

Jaime chuckled, “So your point is we should be on our best behavior?”

“Hah! Can’t hurt… but seriously, I may not be some helpless damsel anymore, but I know my brain, and I’m always gonna worry that I’m doing something wrong.”

Sandor frowned, “So you want us to reassure you you’re not doing anything wrong?”

“Gods no! That will get nauseating quick. Just promise that if you actually _are_ mad at me, you’ll talk to me about it. Not yell, not lose your temper, just _talk._ Deal?”

“I love talking!” Jaime exclaimed.

“Ah for fuck’s sake, you two are gonna be the death of me,” Sandor grumbled.

His companions smiled proudly.


	18. My Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot happening plot-wise for this and next chapter, but we meet a new character and get to know a bit more about Sansa. Sandor discovers a new side to her and likes it.

“Oh my Gods, San, this place is incredible!” Mya did a 360-degree turn standing in the foyer of Jaime and Sansa’s home, “Ugh, I’m so fucking jealous!”

“No you’re not,” Sansa rolled her eyes knowingly. Mya was many things – smart, funny, sociable, strong – but she was far too independent to ever dream of the typical suburban life. She had lived in at least five different places since college. She had worked no less than fifteen jobs since she and Sansa met in freshman year of high school – and was annoyingly good at all of them.

During high school she worked as a waitress, a cashier, and occasionally picked up some weekend hours with a local catering company – all at the same time and while maintaining a 3.9 GPA. During college she, like Sansa, had a couple part time jobs. But whereas Sansa graduated college and got a job immediately and stuck with it for years, Mya spent one year at an investment firm and decided the business world wasn’t for her. She went back to school to get into nursing and was currently at a rigorous graduate level program on the west coast. She was back in town for their friend Myranda’s beach wedding which would take place in three days.

Sansa and Mya were best friends, but since she moved to the west coast a couple years back their friendship was comprised of a once a year visit when Mya was in town to see her parents and two or three phone calls throughout the year. Neither was the type to call a girlfriend to vent every time something bad happened or gloat every time something good happened. When one of them called the other, it was almost as if a psychic communication had prompted it, as the other would unfailingly answer with a _“Hey I was just thinking about you!”_

Mya would call on a random Tuesday and instead of _“so how have you been?”_ it was _“so when I was driving to work today I saw a billboard for a lingerie store and it reminded me of that time you tried on a Spanx tummy-cincher and couldn’t get it off so I had to cut it off of you in the dressing room with a pair of scissors that a sales clerk brought us. Remember?”_ As if Sansa could forget.

Or Sansa would phone Mya after seeing someone trip on the subway stairs and say, _“Remember when your sister came to pick you up from my parents’ house and she fell up the deck stairs and then my dad spent like an hour digging a splinter out of her hand?”_

And then they’d talk for five hours straight and end the call with a _“Love you so fucking much.”_

Now Mya stood in Sansa’s home, having stopped by while she was in town. It was 4:00 in the afternoon and Sansa knew she’d be up all night talking to Mya who had graciously set aside the entire evening for her best friend.

They moved to the shaded veranda with a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses – neither bothered pretending they wouldn’t go through the whole bottle.

“I can’t believe you’re married. And to a rich guy!” Mya squealed. It was easy for Mya to forget that Sansa came from wealth. Even though Sansa had grown up wealthy she got along better with people like Mya than snobs like – well, Cersei Lannister. Mya was raised by a single mom and had no shame about her modest house, her beat-up car, or her wardrobe – which consisted of Goodwill finds that somehow always looked fabulous on her boyish figure.

“I know, it’s really weird sometimes,” Sansa admitted.

For the next two hours the girls chatted about their respective families, and Sansa felt good to have someone to vent to about her parents’ and siblings’ continued absence from her life. Since moving into Jaime’s house she’d texted her family members on occasion; at most she received back a polite but curt response. Mya was surprised but knew Sansa wouldn’t want to dwell on the topic for too long.

“So what are you wearing to Miranda’s wedding?” Mya asked to change the subject.

“Oh it’s really cute,” Sansa described her dress – a periwinkle blue, maxi length, off-the-shoulder dress with a slit up the left side.

“Oh, you look great in periwinkle.”

“Thanks. What about yours?”

Mya described her dress – a bright pink halter-top dress with a short, flared skirt.

“Ugh, I hate that you can wear bright pink. I love the color, but it makes me so washed out,” Sansa complained. Mya tanned darkly in the summer and had black hair. Every color was her color.

“Yeah, well at least you have an ass,” Mya offered.

“I’d trade my ass for your tan.”

“Bad move, sister, asses are in now. Why don’t you get a spray tan?”

Sansa lifted her brows, “Have you forgotten junior prom?”

“Holy shit, yeah, I almost did. That was one of the funniest nights of my life.”

“Glad _you_ think so.” Sansa had gotten a spray tan the day before their prom, and apparently the technician thought Oompa-Loompa orange was what Sansa had in mind when she asked for a subtle glow. Mya and Sansa spent the entire night wiping her entire body down with thirty dollars’ worth of makeup removing towelettes followed by a lemon and salt scrub.

Just as they were giggling at the memory, Sandor approached from the side yard where he’d been digging out a bush. Jaime told him to call the landscaper, but Sandor said it was a waste of money. In truth the man just needed something to occupy his time and his hands. Sansa had teased him that Jaime wasn’t paying him to be the cook, housekeeper, and lawn boy in addition to bodyguard and driver, but Sandor had just shrugged, _“Well, I get to eat his food, drink his booze, and fuck his wife, so I’ll call it even.”_ As he’d done all three that day Sansa couldn’t argue.

Sandor mumbled a ‘hello’ to Mya and was clearly trying to get into the house with minimal interaction, but Mya was the definition of a social butterfly and stood up with an outstretched hand, “Hi, I’m Mya.”

Sandor shook her hand and introduced himself, his own name barely audible on his lips. Sansa found his shyness around strangers, particularly pretty women, to be both sad and adorable. Knowing he’d never speak up for himself Sansa spoke on his behalf, “Sandor is our… well, our everything.” Sansa meant for the word as a compliment to encapsulate all the official and unofficial roles that Sandor filled, but realized that the word was surprisingly fitting to sum up what he was to Sansa, and to a lesser extent Jaime. He was Sansa’s lover, her source of joy and comfort. And he was slowly becoming Jaime’s friend. He was the masculine energy that made their unorthodox situation feel something like a “real” family.

Mya, like Sansa, was never one to miss the opportunity for a joke. She looked to Sansa with an exaggerated pout, “I thought _I_ was your everything.”

“Sorry,” Sansa shrugged, “come around more often.”

Sandor nodded to Mya, pushed off his muddy boots, and disappeared within the house. As soon as he was out of view Mya turned to Sansa and mouthed “ _Holy Hells”._ Sansa knew that reaction was coming as soon as Sandor had approached wearing nothing but jeans and work boots. Even a nun would have impure thoughts at the sight of that man’s naked torso.

Sansa felt her cheeks redden, and for the first time since meeting Sandor she was sad that she didn’t get to talk about their relationship with anyone. She wanted to gush about how sweet and funny he was, how it sometimes felt like he was made for her – her matching puzzle piece – not to mention their red-hot sexual chemistry. Though Sansa trusted Mya completely, Jaime made the rules very clear as to what they could and could not divulge to others. Without having Mya sign a five-page NDA, Sansa had to be mum on the topics of Jaime’s sexuality and their nontraditional arrangement.

But they were a couple of old friends already on their second bottle of wine, and there was nothing wrong with a little innocent admiration of the opposite sex, was there?

“I know,” Sansa nodded, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice, “not the worst thing to look at.”

“That’s an understatement. My Gods, how do you keep it in your pants with _that_ walking around? He is totally your type. Come to think of it, he’s totally _my_ type.”

“Sandor is very professional. And remember, I’m a married woman now.”

“Still… and nothing against your husband, Jaime is totally hot in a young Robert Redford kinda way, but… damn – that guy is like Hugh Jackman Wolverine level hot. Or Tom Hardy when he has a beard.”

“Alright, calm down before I throw you in a cold shower.”

“Sorry, can you tell I haven’t gotten laid in a while?”

“Why not? You’re back home, didn’t you meet up with Mike?”

“No… he finally got tired of me.”

“Oh Mya! I’m so sorry, why didn’t you tell me?”

Mya shrugged, “I knew it wouldn’t last forever. He could deal with the distance or the openness, but not both.”

Sansa nodded. Mike was Mya’s on-again-off-again boyfriend of ten years. They were both independent workaholics, and it suited them to have a nonexclusive relationship, but when Mya was accepted to a prestigious grad program on the west coast, Mike didn’t go with her, and neither truly wanted him to.

“But you’re still friends?”

“Yeah, we talk here and there, it’s all amicable. Seriously, not a big deal. He and I never would have had, well, _this,_ ” Mya gestured at the house around her.

A comfortable silence passed before Mya spoke again, “So what’s his deal?”

“Who?”

“Sandor.”

“Oh.” Sansa felt a pang of jealousy she had no right to, “Um, single, but not really the dating type.”

The moment the words came out she knew it was the wrong answer as Mya grinned, “Perfect!”

“No I mean, I don’t think he even does hookups or anything.”

“Please tell me he’s not gay.”

Sansa almost spit out her wine, “Um, I don’t think so…” She desperately wanted to tell Mya he was taken but didn’t want to lie. She inadvisably drank more wine and lit up a cigarette, but mainly to keep her mouth occupied so she wouldn’t blurt out the self-incriminating truth.

Just then the subject of their conversation peeked his head through the door, “Uh, Mrs. Lannister, I was about to make something to eat. Are you eating here or were you, uh, ladies going to go out to eat?”

Mya was busy melting over the fact that Sandor could cook so Sansa answered for them both, “We’ll stay here, but don’t worry about us, we’re snacking and won’t be hungry enough for an entire meal.”

Sandor nodded and was back inside. Mya crossed her hands over her heart and fell back in her chair in an _I’m in love_ mannerism. Sansa forced a giggle but hated herself for – for the first time ever – being mad at her best friend. And over literally no fault of her own.

Luckily there were no shortage of other topics for the girls to talk about, and within a few minutes they were back to having each other in stitches. The evening flew by and Sansa didn’t realize it was after 9 o’clock until Jaime’s buttery voice greeted them. Another two hours passed by like nothing as the three of them chatted and laughed, Mya and Jaime fast friends just as Sansa expected they would be. When Jaime offered a guest room to Mya, Sansa had to pretend not to be homicidal at the idea of Mya and Sandor sleeping under the same roof. Blessedly, Mya declined the invitation, saying she needed to be up early to meet her aunt and cousins for breakfast.

When Sansa walked Mya through the house to leave, her friend strode right up to Sandor who was sitting on the couch in the den watching some documentary on the Civil War.

“Hey,” Mya said brightly.

“Hi…” Sandor responded suspiciously.

“Do you have plans for Saturday?”

_Fuck!_

“Uh, no, why, waddaya need?”

Mya laughed at his reaction and rolled her eyes, “I need you to rotate my tires. Waddaya think?”

“Umm…?”

“The wedding?”

“Yeah. Do you need a ride or something?”

Sansa once again felt simultaneously sad for Sandor and glad that he was oblivious to Mya’s flirtation.

Mya giggled again, “No, I need a _date_ or something.”

Sandor finally realized what was happening and stuttered a polite decline. Sansa hated herself that it made her so happy. She avoided Jaime’s eyes; she knew he was watching her reaction, and she knew that he knew just how relieved she was by Sandor’s refusal.

Mya shrugged, “Well if you change your mind, just tag along with Sansa and Jaime this weekend, and I’ll meet up with you there.”

“Um, okay. Thanks,” Sandor shrunk into the sofa as Mya returned to Sansa’s side and let herself be escorted to the driveway. They hugged goodbye, not nearly as long as they normally would, knowing they’d see each other in a couple days, and Mya got into her Uber.

As they watched the car drive away Sansa still didn’t meet Jaime’s eyes, “Shut up.”

He laughed, “I didn’t say a thing.”

“Well then stop thinking so loudly.”

“Hah! I think it’s your own thoughts you’re hearing.”

Sansa finally met his glance with a scowl before heading straight to Sandor in the den. Jaime shouted his goodnight to her, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, before ascending the stairs. It was already past his bedtime for a worknight.

Sansa stood right in front of Sandor, effectively blocking his view of the TV.

“What?” he asked innocently.

Sansa crossed her arms and sputtered out the first thing that popped into her mind, “Mya says you look like Hugh Jackman in Wolverine or Tom Hardy with a beard.”

“Oh, I like Tom Hardy – did you see Legend?”

“Shut up. After the movie Warrior came out, I masturbated to Tom Hardy fantasies for like six months.”

“Ooh-kay….”

Sansa wanted to voice so many conflicting thoughts.

> _Please don’t ever fuck my best friend._
> 
> _It’s alright if you want to go to the wedding with Mya, maybe you’ll have a good time._
> 
> _Why do you have to be so fucking hot?_
> 
> _If you ever fuck anybody but me there is going to be a murder suicide._
> 
> _I won’t be mad if you want to date someone else…_
> 
> _…Yes, I will._

Sandor was still staring up at her perplexed, and it was such a good look on him. Like a giant puppy dog that didn’t understand why he was being scolded for chewing up your shoes, and you try but can’t succeed in being truly mad because he’s so darn cute.

She didn’t trust her mouth to say words that wouldn’t sound psychotic or pathetic, so she let her body do the talking, grabbing his face to kiss him passionately while straddling his lap. His confusion vanished in place of lust, and he was immediately running his hands up and down her back and butt, pulling her center against his groin which was already engorged and ready to be put to work.

As much as Sansa enjoyed foreplay it truly wasn’t necessary. Sandor’s scent and taste, his large hands, his scratchy beard, his deep voice – it all combined to create an instantly arousing force that she was powerless to resist – not that she tried to. And tonight she did not want to delay. Like a she-wolf marking her territory she ripped off Sandor’s undershirt and pulled down his shorts and boxers in one rough yank. She pulled off her own clothes and didn’t waste a moment before impaling herself on his thick cock, eliciting a throaty groan from him as he threw his head back.

She rode him hard and without any regard for her own climax. She needed to communicate to him in no uncertain terms everything she felt about him. 

> _I need you._
> 
> _You’re so sexy it hurts._
> 
> _Being with you is the highlight of my life._
> 
> _Please don’t ever leave._
> 
> _I love you…_

She leaned her forehead against his, a sweet gesture that contradicted the fierce and possessive way she was mounting him. She needed him to understand just how lost she’d be without him. Just how sorry she was that she was, apparently, an irrationally jealous bitch – but only for him.

“Sansa,” he breathed against her mouth before pulling her even closer to his body, so his arms were wrapped tightly around her waist and his face was buried in her hair. She felt his hips thrust slightly, seemingly involuntarily, and a few seconds later he was groaning his release into her shoulder. He collapsed back against the sofa and once he regained his senses lifted a hand languidly to stroke Sansa’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.

“For what?” there it was again, those confused puppy dog eyes. Sansa couldn’t look at them.

“For being a jealous, hypocritical, selfish bitch.”

His confusion transformed into a hopeful grin, “You were jealous?”

“Don’t look so pleased…”

Clearly, he couldn’t help it, “Never had someone jealous of me before. It’s nice.”

“You’re weird, you know that?” she shook her head but was truly relieved that he wasn’t mad at her reaction to Mya’s flirtation.

“Never claimed otherwise,” he stated proudly.


	19. Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another that's not big plot-wise but sets up some future possibilities.

Sansa’s vain attempt at upstaging her own husband was a miserable failure. He wore a pair of fitted gray slacks, a button up white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, and leather loafers. And the fucker could not have been sexier – and worse yet, _effortlessly_ sexy. He showered, shaved, dressed, and styled his hair in thirty minutes, while Sansa took that long just to do her makeup, all to achieve a “not trying too hard” look. Why was it harder to execute a subtle smoky eye than full-on drag queen treatment?

As they arrived at the beautiful beachfront pavilion hand-in-hand Sansa’s envy turned into smugness, as every set of female eyes did a double-take. Sansa teased, “A girl could get used to having such fine arm candy.”

“Glad I can be of service, Mrs. Lannister.”

It was 6 pm – an hour before the ceremony was set to start, and all the guests had arrived for a cocktail hour. Sansa introduced Jaime to everyone she knew, including Myranda’s family and a couple friends Sansa had gone to school with.

Mya arrived fashionably late and ran to give both Sansa and Jaime a warm hug before looking around them, “No big guy?”

“No, sorry. I told you he’s shy,” Sansa tried to sound regretful.

“Fine, then I’m borrowing your husband for a while,” without waiting for permission Mya dragged a good-humored Jaime over to a group of girlfriends, no doubt plying him for dirt on Sansa or offering him the same. Sansa rolled her eyes and got herself a martini from the bar. Other than a slightly awkward run-in with her ex-boyfriend of two years, who Sansa has stupidly forgotten was a good friend of the groom, the evening was going well. Jaime made his way back over to her.

“You escaped?” she asked wryly.

“I was dismissed,” Jaime responded.

“Do I even want to know what Mya said about me?”

“Don’t worry, nothing _too_ embarrassing, but isn’t seventeen a bit old to be peeing your pants?”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “That bitch! We were stuck in a traffic jam for _three hours_ and I had drunk two Snapples! She made me laugh on purpose. It was bladder warfare, I tell you!”

Jaime laughed heartily, “Well the joke was on her, it was her car, right?”

“Yeah, and like a sucker I paid for it to get shampooed.”

“Talk about adding insult to injury,” Jaime sympathized.

Sansa narrowed her eyes, “I don’t like you knowing all my dirty little secrets.”

“I won’t tell yours if you won’t tell mine,” he winked.

…

The ceremony, while a little sappy for Sansa’s taste, was quite lovely. The couple was wed at dusk at the end of a pier. It was a perfect night, the clouds painted pink and orange. It was very romantic, and Sansa was happy to lean into Jaime’s embrace.

The reception was very lively, and Sansa was pleased to find out that Jaime was an excellent dance partner. They danced and giggled the night away, and Sansa didn’t mind when a few of her friends from high school cut in. Jaime was gracious and fun and seemed to have unlimited energy. The man really was like a sexy Energizer Bunny.

The pavilion was dimly lit with lanterns and string lights, and a group of young men – hipsters judging by the man buns, suspenders, and striped socks – must not have seen Sansa, or known she was Jaime’s wife, as she was taking a breather and sipping a cocktail near the railing. She caught a conversation taking place that clearly was about Jaime.

_“Like the country needs another billionaire running for office. This is what’s wrong with America, the people who make the laws are totally out of touch with the working class.”_

Sansa wanted to ask if any of them actually _worked_ for a living but bit her tongue.

_“Yeah, dude’s probably been handed everything on a silver platter his entire life.”_

Was Jaime born rich? Yes. But he also worked like a dog. Tywin Lannister didn’t allow his children to sit back and enjoy spending his money without earning their share.

_“Probably gonna say he’s for the middle class, to get elected, then every piece of legislation he supports will be just another way to funnel money to the 1%.”_

Sansa’s hackles were up. She’d had a few conversations with Jaime about his aspirations and while she knew not all his motives were altruistic, it was obvious that he cared about people and wanted to help make the world a little bit better.

She composed herself enough to politely butt into their conversation, “So what do you think about his plan for prison reform?”

Four hipsters turned to her at once, clearly ignorant of what she was referring to.

She smiled coyly, “Oh, sorry, I thought you were talking about Jaime Lannister. My mistake.”

“Uh, we were,” one of them answered.

“Oh, you must know all about it then! Reducing or eliminating mandatory minimum sentences for non-violent crimes, expanding work and education programs within prisons, and opening investigations into juvenile detention facilities and privatized prisons. As I’m sure you’re aware, the over-incarceration of ethnic minorities and low-income citizens is a major problem. Talk about funneling taxpayer money into the upper class!”

After swallowing their disgrace, the young men did an admirable job of listening and joining her in a more informed discussion on Jaime’s platform issues. When she felt her point had been made, she politely excused herself and turned to head back toward the dance floor, only to see her husband standing ten feet away with a proud smirk on his face.

“Oh shut up,” she mumbled as she grabbed his gin and tonic to take a sip.

He put his hands up in supplication, “I didn’t say anything.”

“They were being misinformed jerks. Someone had to set them straight, after all, your reputation reflects on me,” Sansa arched an eyebrow.

He smiled warmly, “Please don’t psychoanalyze this, but I find your protectiveness of me rather alluring.” Jaime had led her back to the dance floor, and under the moonlight and candlelight it truly was an enchanted night.

Sansa giggled, “I _might_ have to psychoanalyze that.”

“Fine, but just remember – turnabout is fair play.”

“Eek, you’re right, let’s just agree to let the deep recesses of our respective minds remain unexamined.”

“Deal.”

They both were enjoying the dance, looking around happily at the other couples. It seemed the entire atmosphere had everyone in the mood for romance. Sansa smiled as she looked at the bride – her friend Myranda – and marveled at how much had changed in a year. Myranda, even more so than Mya, was the type that Sansa thought would never settle down. She was sexually liberated and unashamed. But apparently when she fell, she fell hard, as evidenced by the way she was beaming radiantly at her groom.

“You sorry that we didn’t have this?” Jaime asked.

Sansa knew he was referring to the big wedding, and answered honestly, “Not a bit. I always thought it was a waste of money.”

Jaime rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “Of course you did.”

Sansa swatted his chest, “What about you? Sorry that we didn’t have a _grand affair_?”

Jaime scrunched his mouth into an indecisive look, “I mean, I like weddings, I know that not all men do, but there’s too much family drama. Honestly, I can count on both hands the number of people I’d actually _want_ at my wedding, and most are not family.”

Sansa chuckled, “I know what you mean, especially with what’s going on with _my_ family,” she raised her eyebrows.

Jaime nodded but was good enough to not converse about what he knew was an upsetting subject for Sansa. Instead he distracted her by describing his dream wedding from the venue down to the cake filling. She chimed in to either passionately agree or disagree with some of his ideas. Generally they were in alignment as they always tended to be.

Another comfortable silence passed before Jaime spoke again, “You know, you were very convincing when you talked to those kids.”

Sansa laughed and Jaime looked a bit insulted by her reaction, “What? I mean it.”

“Oh I’m not laughing at that. I’m laughing at you calling them ‘kids’… makes you sound like a grumpy old man.”

“As I recall you have a thing for grumpy old men.”

Sansa threw her head back and laughed, and Jaime grinned, “I hope you won’t be thinking about George C. Scott tonight when you’re with me.”

“Not a chance,” she winked. Something glimmered in his eye but a moment before Mya came over to hug them goodbye, and it was only then that Sansa realized many of the guests had already left. The night had gone by too quickly, but luckily it wasn’t over yet. Sansa and Jaime were staying at the hotel attached to the venue so that neither had to be the designated driver. They said their goodbyes to the bride and groom and headed up to their room.

Just like during their honeymoon, Jaime carried her shoes while she walked barefoot down the hotel hallway. Also like their honeymoon, the view was fantastic, as Jaime had opted for one of the upper floor suites with a balcony overlooking the beach. Though it was August the ocean breeze put a nip in the air as they stood outside listening to the waves crashing in the distance. Jaime rubbed his warm hands up and down Sansa’s arms a few moments before wrapping his arms around her, pressing his chest to her back. It only took a few well-placed light kisses on her neck for Sansa to feel like putty in his hands. She turned her head to meet his lips then smiled, “Husband…” she said invitingly.

“Wife…” he whispered into their kiss.

* * *

A strange thing happened Saturday night around dinnertime. Sandor opened the fridge and stared into it feeling completely uninspired. He loved cooking, but in the few months he’d been living with Sansa and Jaime he found it even more satisfying to cook for other people. Without having someone to taste his creations it seemed not worth the effort.

In the big empty house, he felt suddenly out of place. What had so quickly come to feel like home to him didn’t tonight – and he could only attribute it to Sansa’s absence. He had never minded being alone his entire life – in fact he preferred it that way. But after months of constant company of the sweetest kind, he now felt antsy without it.

Deciding not to cook tonight he picked up the phone to order a pizza but then pocketed it instead. “Fuck it,” he said to himself as he grabbed his wallet and headed out the front door. He walked the fifteen minutes down the street to the bar and was greeted immediately by the middle-aged bartender he and Sansa had come to know and like.

“Hey man, I’ve missed seeing your pretty face around here,” the man spoke as Sandor took an empty stool at the bar. The man, Bronn, had a wry sense of humor, and Sandor respected someone who could joke about his facial scars with neither pity nor cruelty behind the words.

“Fuck off,” Sandor mumbled by way of response. It was early yet for a Saturday. There were a few couples eating dinner at the tables, but the bar was mostly empty.

Bronn chuckled, “Where ya been? Boss been riding ya hard?” he winked. Bronn had openly admired Sansa in a way that somehow wasn’t creepy. Sandor imagined the man was something of a pathological flirt.

“Fuck off,” Sandor repeated, taking a sip of the Guinness that Bronn placed in front of him without asking.

Bronn turned and leaned against the bar, gazing up at the Mets game on TV. Seeing that no amount of staring could change the score he turned back around with a scoff, “So you work for Lannister, eh?”

“Jaime Lannister, yes.”

“Figured as much, when I saw videos of his honeymoon, I recognized Red. Lucky bastard.”

“Aye,” Sandor said, for the first time wishing he could brag that he, too, was a lucky bastard in that regard.

“He a nice guy?”

“Yeah,” Sandor answered honestly, “Only _looks_ like an arrogant prick.”

“Hah! I guess he and the missus must be good folk if they put up with your bad attitude… So what’s your job exactly?”

“Security mostly. And I drive the _missus_ wherever she needs to go,” Sandor left out all the other odd jobs he did around the house and grounds to keep himself occupied.

Bronn shook his head and whistled, “I dunno man, don’t think I could spend all day with _that_ woman and keep my hands to myself.”

_I don’t._ “You get used to it,” he shrugged.

“I have to say, when she was in here with you, I never took her for the type.”

“What type?”

“The type to marry for money.”

“She isn’t,” Sandor felt oddly defensive considering that, in fact, Sansa’s marriage was one of financial motive – even if it wasn’t _her_ motive.

“If you say so,” Bronn accepted.

Sandor desperately needed to change the subject, “Why are you here on a Saturday, I thought you only worked the weeknights?”

“I’m picking up a couple Saturday shifts from one of the other guys so he’ll cover me for Labor Day weekend.”

“Going somewhere nice?”

“No, unless you consider my basement nice. Every July 4th and Labor Day I spend in the basement with my noise cancelling headphones.”

It only took Sandor a moment to realize what he was referring to. Bronn had already told Sandor that he’d been a marine. “The fireworks?” Sandor asked, though he knew the answer.

“Yep,” Bronn answered matter-of-factly, “Got over everything else, but not that.”

Sandor nodded, “Yeah, I had that for a year or so, nothing too bad though.” In truth when Sandor got out of the service, he somehow expected the PTSD to be worse than it was. Then again, given Sandor’s childhood it probably took more than an active warzone to really traumatize him.

“Oh mine’s bad – duck for cover and wet myself bad.”

“Wow, that sucks man.”

Bronn shrugged, “I came home alive and in one piece; I can’t complain.”

Sandor raised his glass, “I’ll drink to that.”

For the next couple hours Sandor drank, ate a burger, and talked to Bronn here and there. The man was easy to talk to, or rather listen to. He didn’t pry into Sandor’s life, instead keeping the conversation light yet forgoing empty courtesies. Sandor learned that the reason he normally didn’t work Saturdays was because he got up early every Sunday and spent the entire day on the lake fishing. Sandor told him how he hunted when he was younger but never tried fishing, and Bronn gave him an open invitation to join him on his boat any Sunday as long as he could keep quiet. Sandor snorted at that, “I’m the last guy you ever need to tell to keep quiet.” While the idea of spending an entire day on a boat in the middle of a lake with another person sounded like Sandor’s definition of awkwardness, he imagined that if he had to do it, Bronn would be the one guy he wouldn’t be tempted to throw overboard after a ten minutes.

Then Sandor realized something, “Wait – isn’t it a private lake? How do you fish on it?”

“I live on the lake.”

“Huh?”

Bronn laughed, “Nothing like what _Mr. and Mrs. Lannister_ have, but yeah I own the little ranch house on Indian Rd.”

“No shit? On a barkeeper’s wages? I’m in the wrong line of work…”

“Nah, this is just my spending money. I own rental properties. Bought my first one after I came back from the service with $25,000 my mom left me when she died. It was a real dump, but I’m good with my hands and I had so much pent up energy – well, you know what it’s like. I needed an outlet or else I’d have probably killed someone. So I spent the better part of a year renovating it, was all told $75K into it, and could’ve sold it for easily double that, but I just had a hard time letting go. I mean I literally lived there while I was rehabbing it. So I decided to rent it out for $1400 a month instead.”

“Wow, so how many rentals do you own?”

“I’m up to eight now, but I think I’m at my limit. Too much to manage.”

“Hmm… maybe I should rent out my place.”

“You own a house?”

“Yeah, in Clifton. Paid off just last year, but now I’m living at _Chez Lannister_ , so the house is just sitting unoccupied.”

Bronn’s jaw dropped, “Is it a nice place?”

“ _I_ think so. Single family, quiet street. Like you, I bought it cheap and fixed it up.”

“Dude, depending on the size you can probably get $2K a month rent.”

Sandor’s eyes went wide, “Seriously? Wow… but I don’t know anything about that. Don’t I have to do paperwork or change the insurance on it, do a rental agreement – all that shit?”

Bronn nodded, “It’s a piece of cake, though. I can get all the forms you need and show you what you need to do. Help you place an ad, all that.”

“Wow… thanks, man. I think I’ll take you up on that. Just let me know what I owe you for your time.”

Bronn waved a hand, “Don’t worry about it, that’s what friends are for… though if you insist on making it up to me, just bring Red back around… preferably on a slow night when I have plenty of time to gawk at her,” Bronn offered a devilish grin to go along with his conspiratorial wink.

It was going on 10 and the place was filling up with the younger crowd. Bronn would get busy, and without Sansa here Sandor had no reason to linger. He settled his bill and headed home. When he walked into the big house it was still empty but not as lonely. Though he flicked on the TV, he could barely pay attention. He marveled at how much his life had changed in a matter of months. He had a beautiful girlfriend who for some mysterious reason thought he was Tom Hardy hot and who he didn’t have to worry about disappointing by his aloofness. He lived in a gorgeous lakefront house, even if he didn’t own it, and tonight he’d made a friend. A normal guy (kind of) who he actually could stand talking to for more than a minute. If he added in Jaime and Nate, he had five friends. He chastised himself for how good it felt – after all, he had never wanted to have friends. He always found people to be exhausting. Is it possible that after a lifetime of meeting dumbasses he met five great people in a matter of a few months?

And that wasn’t even the strangest part. Sansa’s friend – the perky one with dark hair – asked him to be her date to the wedding. Of course the prospect of that was terrifying, but a pretty girl had hit on him. And then it made Sansa so jealous that she rode him like a bucking bronco. It was all so bizarre that it felt a bit surreal. Part of him thought he was the victim of some elaborate practical joke, but he knew that wasn’t so.

He must not have fallen asleep until very late, for when he awoke it was to the sound of Jaime’s upbeat and melodic voice calling out, “Honey, we’re home!” as bright morning light poured through the windows of the den.


	20. Faye Dunaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe you two are just the right kind of crazy for one another."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovely readers. Trying to propel things along here a teensy bit, but then we're going to have like 2-3 chapters of fun and fluff with a side of smut and zero plot. 
> 
> I realize that I've been picturing Nate in my head as someone of Hispanic descent. Tall and tan but unlike Sandor he has a very warm face - smiley, kind eyes, and closer to the "cute" end of the attractiveness spectrum rather than the "darkly sexy" end. I've been picturing him as Danny Pino from SVU, but feel free to insert your own image.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Nate beamed at Sansa as he rose from his office chair to greet her.

Sansa had gotten Nate’s office address from Jaime and had Sandor drop her off around lunchtime on the Thursday after Myranda’s wedding. She invited Sandor to join her, but he said he had personal errands to run anyway, which Sansa wondered about but didn’t pry.

“I’ve come to steal you away for lunch – if you have time, that is.”

“For my new favorite redhead? Of course!”

Sansa smiled, “Then I take it you don’t know many redheads… oh and, full disclosure, my reasons for the visit are somewhat selfish.”

Nate looked at her scandalously, “Consider my curiosity piqued. Gimme ten?”

Sansa nodded and waited in the lobby. A few minutes later Nate emerged and led her to a Thai restaurant two blocks from his office. They sat and chatted all the way through their meal, Sansa almost forgetting about her real mission until Nate inquired as to her selfish motives.

“Oh! Right, thanks.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a 5x7 print from Myranda’s wedding. It was a long view of the pier where they were wed. The photographer must have taken the shot just before or after they said their vows, because the pier was empty save for glowing lanterns adorning each post. On either side of the pier was the dark blue water of the ocean. The top half of the photo captured the evening summer night sky – a spectrum of blues with purple and orange clouds from the dying light of the sun. When Sansa came across this photo on Myranda’s bridal blog, she literally gasped. Of course there were tons of photos of the bride and groom and all their guests, but this photo so perfectly and elegantly captured the magic of the _place_ where they became man and wife.

Knowing she was no artist, she felt a bit shy handing the photo over to Nate. Would he find it as special as she did?

“Wow,” he responded, giving Sansa instant relief, “Great shot. Perfect symmetry and light play. I love how it’s angled so the end of the dock meets the line of the horizon. Whoever took this was a great photographer.” He looked back up at Sansa, “I assume this is from your friend’s wedding?”

“Mmhmm. And that leads to the selfish reason for my visit. Jaime told me you prefer doing portraits, but that sunset painting that you did is _so_ amazing, I thought maybe you’d let me commission this as a present to my friend and her husband. I’ll pay of course… and if you don’t want to it’s fine, really, but maybe you can refer me to someone?”

Nate chuckled, “It’s fine Sansa. I’d be happy to. But it’ll take the better part of a month. I assume you’ll want it matted and framed?”

“Yeah, or just tell me where to take it.”

Nate waved a hand, “I spend so much time at the framing place I’ll just take it over for you. But that’ll be another week then.”

“No problem. We already gave them a gift; this is just a little something extra. And please let me know what I owe you. I don’t even want any friend discounts – your time is valuable, plus the materials.”

Nate seemed to be considering his next words, “Would you be open to bartering instead?”

Sansa chuckled, “I suppose I could do one of those paint-by-numbers things, but I kinda feel like you’re getting the raw deal.”

“Not what I had in mind,” Nate laughed, “Let me paint you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You said it yourself – portraits are my passion, and beautiful women are my muse, not that there is anything novel about that.”

“Umm…”

“It won’t be weird if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You want to draw me? Why?” Sansa asked, as if Nate hadn’t already said it.

“I’ve been thinking about it ever since the first time I met you. At first, I thought you were a young Tippi Hedren, but that wasn’t quite right. You’re a bit too sexy to be a Tippi.”

Sansa looked around the restaurant, worrying that someone would wonder why Jaime Lannister’s wife was being called sexy by a good-looking single man. Luckily the surrounding tables were unoccupied.

Nate had never stopped talking, “…You’re more young Faye Dunaway. The impeccable bone structure, straight nose, high cheekbones, the small mouth but full lips. But really, it’s in the eyes, which is what made me think Tippi in the first place. You’ve got eyes that are always studying, always appraising. Eyes that look right into a person’s soul, but in a way that makes the person _want_ to be seen by you.” The excitement was obvious in his voice.

“Wow, that’s quite a compliment – I think… but I’ve never posed or anything. I’m not even good at taking selfies.”

“Don’t worry about it, I can give you tips, I’ll make sure you’re totally comfortable and—”

“Wait! You’re not talking about a nude are you?!” Sansa whisper-shouted across the table.

Nate laughed, “No, though I do those, too. Actually, this is what I had in mind…” Nate pulled his phone out, typed in a quick search and produced a photo of Faye Dunaway wearing a white shirt, holding her hair up over her head. She was neither smiling nor frowning and looked very sultry seemingly without trying. Sansa had to admit she was a beautiful woman, and she totally got what Nate meant about her eyes looking into you instead of at you. Even in a photograph the ability was captured.

“So, if I do this, what will you do with the painting?”

Nate shrugged, “Just add it to my portfolio. I wouldn’t sell it, if that’s what you mean. Of course, if a certain handsome blond we have in common would want to buy a copy…”

Sansa smiled as she shook her head.

“What? You don’t think Jaime would want to buy it?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… how are you so cool with all this?” It was the question on Sansa’s mind since she met Nate. She had never intended to voice it, but it made its way out, nonetheless.

Nate knew what she was referring to, “It’s just who Jaime is. Who _I_ am, to an extent. I guess we fit into the stereotype of the polyamorous gay man.”

“But, don’t you get jealous?”

Nate teetered his hand in a ‘yes and no’ gesture, “Not jealous of _you_. I used to get jealous of Jaime’s other partners, not that he’s had a ton, but I understood why he did it.”

“Why?”

Nate blushed, “You know Jaime’s dad right?”

“Yes, talk about eyes that see through a person.”

Nate laughed boldly, earning the attention of the two waitresses loitering by the register, “Well you also know the last thing he would stand for is for his golden son to be anything other than the model male: successful, respected, good-looking, well-spoken, and straight as an arrow. Ideally with a beautiful wife and 2.5 kids. Tywin is all about image, and oddly it’s not in a shallow way. He knows the way the world works – or at least how _his_ world works – reputation is everything. The image you put out there is as important as the connections you make, or your business savvy, or anything else that you and I would consider measures for success.”

“So what does that have to do with Jaime’s lifestyle? I mean, I get not coming out, but couldn’t he still have a committed relationship with one partner, even if he had to hide it?”

“Not Jaime. He’s got no guile.”

Sansa nodded, “I’ve noticed.”

“Jaime committing himself to someone – to me for instance – would mean admitting he wants _that life_ … Jaime has a hard time lying when he knows it’s a lie. But if he convinces himself it’s the truth...”

Sansa nodded again, “He told me and Sandor something to that extent. Not in those words, but that he always denied what he really wanted because if he admitted wanting it – even to himself – he’d have to admit that he couldn’t have it… but that explains Jaime. What about you? I asked if _you’re_ okay with this situation.”

“I am," Nate answered assuredly. "I won’t say I’m thrilled about every aspect, but no one is 100% happy with their relationship. If I’m going to commit myself to someone – to one guy – I’m going all in. Marriage, house, kids… Jaime isn’t willing to do that, and I’ve come to respect his wishes. I realize he and I had totally different upbringings and I can’t make him change any more than he can make me change.”

“So why not leave? I mean, find someone who would be _all-in_ with you?”

A wide grin stretched across Nate’s face, “Because I can't live without the fucker.”

Sansa smiled back, genuinely happy that Jaime had someone like Nate in his life, “And yet not jealous?”

He shook his head, “Not my style. I guess some people are the jealous type and some aren’t. What about you – does it make you jealous when Jaime is with me?”

“No… not Jaime…”

She blushed, and Nate was too observant not to notice and inquire.

“Ugh,” she dropped her head back, “It’s so embarrassing but yes! My best friend in the world invited Sandor to be her date to the wedding and I had to hold myself back from pouncing on her like a territorial cheetah. And I swear I was NEVER like this before. I could not care less if my past boyfriends had female friends, or if I caught them checking out a girl. But something about Sandor, it’s like I want him all to myself, like he’s this diamond in the rough… this buried treasure I’ve discovered… like I’ve discovered the fountain of youth and instead of bottling it up and selling it for a fortune I keep it all to myself. But at the same time I want him to come out of his shell, I want the world to see how amazing he is, just not…”

Nate was smiling at her analogies, “Single straight females?”

“Yes!”

Nate was surprisingly undisturbed by Sansa’s newly developed possessive streak, “Don’t overthink it. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of you two being happy, have your jealousy. Some men like that.”

Sansa smirked mischievously.

“What?” Nate groaned.

“Well after my friend left I kinda fucked him senseless and he was kinda pleased when I told him the reason why.”

Nate grinned, “There you go, maybe you two are just the right kind of crazy for one another.”

Sansa smiled at how fitting that was. Sandor being an anti-social, mean-tempered, grouchy old bear on the outside, but a big cuddly teddy bear on the inside. Sansa was a playful kitten on the outside, but apparently a territorial lioness on the inside. She told Nate this, and realized how great it was to have a friend she could gush to about Sandor.

After chatting a bit more about the painting Sansa was commissioning, they walked back to Nate’s office where Sandor was waiting outside in the ‘tank’ as Sansa called it. Two days after Cersei took back Joffrey’s Cayenne a giant boxy Mercedes SUV was dropped off in the driveway. Sansa signed for it after the man from the dealership explained that _Mr. Lannister_ had ordered it for his wife. While Sansa was pleased that Jaime was so thoughtful and generous, she didn’t like the car one bit. It was the opposite of sleek and was definitely a gas-guzzler. Sandor on the other hand was like a kid on Christmas, jumping immediately into the driver’s seat and sighing in exaggerated pleasure. He turned to Sansa and held his hand above his head, _“Look, my head isn’t rubbing against the ceiling.”_ Suddenly Jaime’s choice made sense – he wanted a car that didn’t just reflect their wealth, but that Sandor would be comfortable in. It pleased Sansa, but she wouldn’t miss the chance for a joke, _“My husband is spoiling you.”_ Sandor, who was busy exploring the knobs and buttons, muttered back, _“Not even gonna pretend I don’t like it.”_

Nate opened the door for Sansa, greeting Sandor warmly. Through the rolled down window he gave Sansa a quick peck on the cheek, “See ya soon, _kitten_ ,” he winked and grinned as he stepped back to the sidewalk.

As Sandor pulled into the street, he mumbled just loud enough for Sansa to hear, “Not gonna ask.”

Since they were in the city anyway, Sansa wanted to drop by Jaime’s office. At this time in the afternoon Sansa knew he’d be at his campaign headquarters rather than Casterly. Sandor waited in the car while Sansa went in, Thai takeout container in hand.

Sansa found Jaime in what appeared to be a heated discussion with Brienne, but when his eyes saw Sansa they brightened.

“Hey,” he strutted over to her so quickly it was like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks.

“Hey hubby,” she offered as Jaime pecked her cheek. She smiled warmly at Brienne, “Hi Brienne, nice to see you again!”

Brienne made a half-hearted attempt at a smile then excused herself from Jaime’s office. Jaime rolled his eyes behind her back before turning back to Sansa with an apologetic smile, “What’s this?” he pointed at the paper bag in her hand.

“Thai basil chicken. Did you eat already?”

“No I’m starved, thanks!” Jaime dug into the takeout ravenously, offering some to Sansa.

“No thanks, I ate with Nate.”

“Ahh, I wondered why my ears were ringing.”

“Oh please, Nate and I can find plenty to talk about besides you,” it was a true statement, even if they _had_ spent a significant portion of their time discussing Jaime.

Jaime spoke through a mouthful of rice, “So is he going to do the painting of the pier?”

“Yep, and he doesn’t want money for it even though I insisted. He… er, he wants to draw me,” Sansa felt suddenly worried that Jaime wouldn’t approve.

Instead his eyes widened in delight, “That’s awesome. I better get a copy.”

Sansa chuckled, “He thought you’d say that. He wants me to pose like this Faye Dunaway shot he likes.”

Jaime studied her face, “That’s funny, you kind of look like Faye Dunaway.”

“That’s what he said. Man, if I knew gay men were so good at flattery, I would’ve started hanging with them years ago. I could’ve really used the self-esteem boost when I was a teenager.”

Jaime smiled and pulled her against him so that she stood between his legs where he was perched on the edge of his desk, “Not _all_ gay men. Some are vicious, resentful bitches.”

“Hah! I might get along with them, then.”

“No way… but it would make for a catfight I wouldn’t mind watching.”

Sansa swatted his chest as she backed away, “Enough with your weird fantasies. I didn’t come here to distract you from your work, and Sandor has the car running, so I’ll get out of your hair.”

Jaime pulled her back, planting a kiss on her neck, “The distraction was much needed today, believe me.”

“Oh yeah? Have anything to do with…” Sansa jerked her head toward the door, signaling the big woman somewhere on the other side.

“That obvious, huh? We’re just butting heads. In a way that’s what I like about her, she challenges me, tells me when she disagrees, but sometimes I think she forgets that _she_ works for _me_ and not the other way around. And she wants everything to be squeaky clean, and that’s just not politics. I don’t care who you are, you have to play the game to win. You need to do things you don’t like, make friends with people you don’t respect, to get yourself to the place where you can make change.”

“And she is unwilling to get her hands dirty?”

“I’m not asking her to get her hands dirty, just not to waste two hours of my time lecturing me every time I get a speck of dirt on _my_ hands.”

“Like what?”

Jaime exhaled loudly, “Campaign contributions. She’s not even in charge of fundraising, but she’s trying to dictate who we can and can’t take donations from.”

“So who is in charge of fundraising?”

“At the moment? No one. I’ve gone through three finance directors because none can stand working for Brienne.”

“Well, I’m sorry to say it, but perhaps you need a new campaign manager.”

Jaime nodded, “I know, it’s just hard to find someone I trust, and someone who is as hard-working as Brienne. I was thinking of asking Cersei to take on the role, even if just temporarily.”

“Wow… working with family though…?”

“Yeah, I know. But I think we might be able to pull it off… complement each other in a way.”

“So then would you fire Brienne, or…”

“I’d try to find her a different position, but I’m not sure she’d be interested in any. She likes giving orders, not taking them. And Brienne working for Cersei,” Jaime made an exaggerated look of fright.

“Yeah, I kind of got that impression… So how’s it going anyway – the campaign I mean?”

“Well that’s what we were arguing about. I’ve been busting my ass to get an in with two people in particular – very wealthy potential donors. I’m finally making headway and Brienne is riding me about it – that if I take large donations from either they’re going to own me. I’m not dumb, I know there is some expectation of quid pro quo, but I also think there is opportunity to compromise.”

“Who are the people you’re trying to woo?”

“Oberyn Martell and Olenna Tyrell.”

Sansa nodded. She’d heard of both names over the years. The Martell family owned a global consumer products conglomerate that was behind many popular brands. The Tyrells had similar status but in the banking world.

“Can’t your dad help you with that? I mean, he’s the one who wanted you to run in the first place, can’t he help make the connection?”

Jaime snorted, “Ordinarily, yes, my dad helps. Unfortunately both Oberyn and Olenna _hate_ my father. Oberyn thinks my dad screwed him over on a business deal decades ago. Olenna – well I think she just hates all men, but particularly men who rival her in financial success.”

“Hmm, so you need to convince Oberyn that you’re not your father, and you need to prove to Olenna that you’re not a typical misogynistic male.”

Jaime pointed a finger at Sansa, “Bingo.”

Sansa’s mind was at work. This reminded her of her days doing pharmaceutical sales. Each doctor had a different lever, and it was all a matter of figuring out what it was. Some were jaded after becoming gradually disillusioned with the medical system over the years. Others were new in their profession and still hoping to do their part to save the world. Some resented big pharma, even if they saw it as a necessary evil. Sansa could figure them out within five minutes; she wouldn’t even pitch to them in that first meeting, she just used it to find out what part she should play next time around. Then she’d return - sometimes as a sympathetic ear, sometimes as was a wide-eyed optimist passionate about the drugs she was hocking, other times as an empty-headed girl in a tight skirt and ample cleavage.

Sansa grinned, “Do you think you could get either of them to come over for dinner some night?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... needed to have Sansa and Nate bonding scene. It's just unfair to Sansa to not be able to talk about her nontraditional relationship to anyone without putting them under NDA. So Nate and Sansa becoming friends had to happen, just like Sandor is gradually becoming friends with Nate and Jaime.


	21. Perfect Weekend I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun with our favorite fearsome foursome.

Sandor couldn’t remember the last time he actually looked forward to a holiday, not that Labor Day was in the same category as Christmas or Thanksgiving, but every holiday had always been a reminder of how alone he was. Some part of him wished he had family. Not a wife and kids – but maybe some cousins or an uncle would be nice. Then again, they might treat him no better than strangers did, so he didn’t allow himself to wallow in pity for long, instead enjoying the peace and quiet of not having to rush around with shopping and all the other nonsense that normal people did.

Yet as he and Sansa filled up carts at Costco and Whole Foods and waited in the ridiculously long lines, he found it all rather pleasant. Sansa, Jaime, Nate, and Sandor would spend the entire three-day weekend together, consuming copious amounts of food and alcohol. And Sandor was looking forward to it.

Sansa was flipping through a magazine while Sandor surveyed the contents of their basket. Sansa didn’t look like she was listening as he rattled off the planned menu, “So I think Saturday we’ll do the steaks, baked potatoes, and corn on the cob. Sunday the shish-ka-bobs with greek salad. Monday burgers and dogs with macaroni salad.”

She didn’t lift her eyes from the magazine, “Whatever you want, dear, as long I have a beer in my hand and the game on TV.”

“Fuck off,” Sandor pretended to be offended, but couldn’t deny the fact that when it came to cooking and menu planning he was definitely the woman of the house.

She took pity on him, “I can make the salads. I actually make really good macaroni salad.”

“Alright. As for dessert, we’ll save the pies for Monday since we have a red and a blue. We can have the ice cream on Saturday and Sunday since it’s supposed to be so hot those days.

Sansa was clearly trying to suppress a smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she lied.

He felt his cheeks heat, “The pies?”

She scrunched her nose and nodded.

“Fuck. I’m turning into a housewife.”

\----------------------------------------------

All four of them were pleasantly buzzed by 2 pm Saturday. By 4 pm Sansa and Nate were singing and dancing their way through Bruce Springsteen’s greatest hits – Born to Run, Born in the USA, Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out, and I’m on Fire. They even started slow dancing to Stolen Car until Jaime cut in, joking that he was afraid one more dance and Sansa would have Nate turning straight.

Sandor tried to summon jealousy when watching Sansa in Jaime’s arms, if only to prove to himself he was still a red-blooded man, but he just couldn’t. Partly because she made a point of kissing, pinching, and touching him throughout the day. But also because – in seeing Sansa with Jaime, Nate, and her friend Mya – it was clear that she was a vivacious woman, pure and simple. She loved people and brought out the best in them. In a way, she was almost too much for one man, not in a sexual sense, but her personality was so vibrant that it almost seemed like a crime to let only one man receive her warmth and friendship. And, selfishly, she might be overwhelming if it were just her and him with no one else around to absorb Sansa’s radiant sunshine.

As husband and wife danced Nate came over to where Sandor stood putting the steaks on the grill. He slapped him on the back in a brotherly fashion, “You’re a good man, you know that?”

“Oh fuck, don’t let me find out you’re an _‘I love you man’_ when you drink…”

Nate laughed, “No, at least I hope not. I really mean it. Sansa is awesome. It would be easy for you to want to keep her all to yourself.”

Sandor was at his core a suspicious person, and he wondered if Nate was trying to size him up – find out if there would be issues between Jaime and Sandor in the future. But there was an honesty in Nate’s eyes that said otherwise, so Sandor answered in kind, “She’s too much woman for just me.”

Nate chuckled and looked back at the subjects of their conversation, “I know exactly what you mean…” he turned back to Sandor, “Still, if you ever want to talk – you know, with someone who _gets_ it, you have my number.”

“Thanks. Uh, likewise.”

…

After dinner they tag-teamed the dishes – Nate scraping, Sansa washing, Sandor drying, and Jaime putting away. All while guzzling water to rehydrate since they had no intention of calling it an early night.

The sun was low in the sky when they decided to take their little party to the pool. Trading their glass tumblers for plastic cups they sat their mojitos on the concrete and jumped in one by one, each trying to outshine the others. Sansa started it off with front flip off the diving board. Not to be outdone, Nate responded with a backflip. Sandor took advantage of his size to cannonball it, knowing Jaime hated seeing all the water splash out. At Jaime’s turn, he switched on his mock high-brow accent, “You are looking at the two-time state champion in diving. I suggest you all watch and learn.” He then executed a perfect swan dive before swimming straight to Sansa underwater and grabbing her foot, causing her to shriek and kick. Jaime emerged, “Oww, you kicked me!”

Sansa nodded one time, “If you tickle me, I am not responsible for where or how hard I kick you. Take that as a warning.”

“Aye,” Sandor added, “and she kicks like a fucking donkey in her sleep; I wake up with bruised shins sometimes.”

Sansa feigned insult.

Now sufficiently cooled off, the foursome chatted until Nate got an excited look in his eyes, “Hey – you guys want to play a drinking game?”

Jaime rolled his eyes, but Nate ignored him. Sansa nodded passionately while Sandor mumbled, “Can’t I just drink without the game?” earning himself a playful elbow to the ribs. “Oww! You know, this is abuse! Jaime and I can report you to the authorities.”

His complaints fell on deaf ears.

Nate explained the game, called _‘never have I ever’_ – each player takes a turn telling the others something they’ve never done. Any of the others who has done it takes a sip of their drink. If everyone drinks, the player goes again. If no one drinks, the player has to drink.

“I’ll start it off,” Nate volunteered, “Never have I ever… gone skiing.” Jaime and Sansa drank.

At Jaime’s turn he said, “Never have I ever been to Australia.” Nate drank after glaring at him.

At Sandor’s turn he said, “Never have I ever… gone horseback riding.” All three of the others drank, earning Sandor another turn, “Never have I ever… gone scuba diving” Jaime and Nate drank.

At Sansa’s turn she had a mischievous grin, “Never have I ever peed standing up.” Sandor called no fair, but Nate reminded him that turnabout is fair play.

At Nate’s turn he eyed Sansa, “Never have I ever worn makeup.”

She raised an eyebrow as if to say “ _really?”_ but sipped her drink.

It was Jaime’s turn, “Never have I ever peed my pants in my friend’s car.”

Sansa’s eyes went wide, “Wow… low blow, dude,” she sipped her drink and then was pressured into sharing her bladder warfare story with Nate and Sandor, who found it hilarious.

It was Sandor’s turn, “Never have I ever gotten out of a speeding ticket by saying the alphabet backwards.”

Sansa took a sip, “The joke’s gonna be on you guys when you’re cleaning up my vomit later.” It was her turn, and she took her time thinking up a good one, “Never have I ever fucked a woman.” All three men drank while Sansa smiled triumphantly.

“But would you be open to it?” Sandor asked teasingly. There was nothing playful about the smack she gave him, “Oh, that’s it. You asked for it, sister.”

Sansa squealed and tried to get away, but his long arms caught her, lifted her easily overhead, and tossed her into the deep end. As she swam her way back, Sandor expected her to continue their roughhousing but instead she stared at him with lust-filled eyes.

“That was the hottest thing you’ve ever done,” she said before grabbing his neck and pulling him down for a passionate kiss.

As they broke away, Sandor muttered, “Damn, if that’s the reaction I’m going to get, I can throw you all night long.”

Her eyes glimmered and she pulled him down for yet another searing kiss. Sandor was vaguely aware of Jaime explaining to Nate that Sansa’s idea of the perfect man was the Brawny paper towel guy and felt a swell of confidence knowing that if strength was what turned her on, it was the one thing he had in spades.

As much as Sandor would have gladly taken her right there in the pool, he remembered they weren’t alone and pulled apart once again, as painful as it was. Only when he did, he realized that Nate and Jaime were in the midst of some PDA themselves.

He must have been staring in shock because he heard Sansa giggle, then she was turning his head to face her. He’d seen Jaime and Nate give each other quick pecks on the cheek or lips, hold hands, and hug, but seeing them in full on make-out mode was weird, as if it finally cemented the fact that Jaime was gay, or at least 85% gay. Sandor wasn’t disgusted by it, but nor was he comfortable with the tongue tango going on fifteen feet away. Then again, he was never comfortable seeing even straight couples kiss, so he couldn’t really tell where this ranked on his awkward meter.

When he met Sansa’s eyes she had a strange expression on her face, like she was trying to read his mind. He decided to save her the trouble, “Just not used to seeing it, that’s all,” he spoke low hoping Nate and Jaime wouldn’t hear. Her eyes turned understanding, and she kissed him again, more gently this time. They floated around the pool, Sansa’s limbs wrapped around Sandor. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they kissed… sometimes they stared up at the stars. Jaime and Nate were similarly occupied.

It was all strangely normal. Jaime told Nate about his concerns with Brienne. Sandor told Sansa how Bronn was helping him rent out his house. Sansa described Myranda’s wedding venue. Occasionally they’d meander into each other’s space and conversations, Jaime bragging about the way Sansa schooled a bunch of hipsters at the wedding, Nate telling Sandor the best color palette to make his now rental property look neutral but not sterile.

In the distance they heard firecrackers and Sandor thought of Bronn, hiding out in his basement. His heart went out to the guy, and this wasn’t even the worst of it – Sunday night is when the big display would be done over the lake, Jaime said. Sandor thought to call Bronn tomorrow morning to see if he was okay.

Sandor didn’t even realize how long they’d been in the pool until he noticed Sansa’s lips shivering. They were adorable, so he kissed them for the hundredth time that night, “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

He wrapped her in an oversized towel and lit the outdoor propane fireplace before heading inside to make everyone something that would warm their blood. For himself and Jaime it was straight scotch, for Nate and Sansa a hot toddy. He was met by cheers when he emerged with the drinks a few minutes later. Sansa was warming her hands by the fireplace while enjoying a cigarette. Jaime and Nate were cuddled up on an oversized lounge chair.

Sandor wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her, letting her steal his warmth. They shared another cigarette and sipped their drinks but otherwise were content to listen to the sounds of late summer and artificial flame.

“Ready for bed?” he whispered into her hair.

“Mmhmm.”

He nodded before directing his attention at Nate and Jaime, “We’re heading up, guys.”

They rose in unison to hug Sansa goodnight. Just before Sandor closed the patio door behind him, he turned around, “And Lannister, since you don’t get hungover, you’re on coffee duty tomorrow morning.”

Jaime chuckled and offered a mock salute, “Yes, Sir!”


	22. Perfect Weekend II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More FWOFF

Sunday morning everyone was pretty subdued – except Jaime of course. They had all slept in until well after nine, and as promised were met by a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Jaime had set out some fruit salad and croissants, which Sansa dug into shamelessly. Nothing like simple carbohydrates to soak up the acid left behind in one’s stomach after a day of drinking.

Over her coffee mug she kept inadvertently meeting Sandor’s eyes, and each time she did she felt herself blush, which he silently mocked with a knowing smirk.

Last night had been a milestone. Though it was late and they were both tired and tipsy when they went to bed, it didn’t take long for the press of their naked bodies to give each of them a second wind. But it was different right from the start. All their previous couplings had been hungry and passionate – all ripping away clothes, nipping and licking at every inch of each other’s skin, culminating in a fast and vigorous episode of carnal lust. And while it never felt lacking in deep intimacy, Sansa imagined anyone watching who didn’t know them would compare it to two dogs rutting before they would two people making love.

But last night… last night was something else. Sandor was unhurried from the start, exploring her lips with his own. Looking upon and touching her body as if he was stepping on the moon. His reverie had her speechless except for the occasional moan or hiss when his finger would stroke some sensitive bit of flesh. Perhaps due to her drunken state she didn’t mind the sweet and slow torture, nor did she feel the compulsion to cover herself when his eyes were particularly appraising. He found birthmarks, scars, and dimples and seemed to be committing them to memory. Then he’d look up to her eyes, a desperate, unspoken question in his, _“Do you feel it too?”_

A definitive, unspoken answer in hers, _“Yes.”_

After bringing her to peak with his tongue he entered her almost immediately, not allowing her quivering channel a chance to recover. As a result she rode toward her second orgasm on the wave of her first, panting and clinging to his shoulders as he pressed into her deeply but slowly, whispering her name as if it were a prayer.

She was effusive as always when coming on his cock, only instead of a string of expletives or repetition of his name alternating with thanking the Gods, her pleasure-loosened lips cried out the truth she’d known for some time, “God I love you so fucking much.”

He stilled then and her brain eventually caught up with what she’d said.

_Fuck! I’m going to scare him away._

But there was nothing frightened about the motions he resumed. His fingers threaded through her hair. Every thrust was a declaration. He pushed into her as if trying to fuse their bodies permanently, as if he could somehow reach a new depth, a part of her that had never been touched, that he could claim for his own. His actions said what his words could not, and Sansa felt tears building with the knowledge that he did, indeed, love her back. She wasn’t expecting him to say so, so when he did, she almost didn’t believe her ears. Just before grunting his release he pressed his forehead to hers, though kept his eyes closed, “I fucking love you so much, too.”

Now they’d both said it. The L-word. After it happened Sansa worried Sandor would regret it, that they would have crossed a threshold he wasn’t comfortable with. Yet here they sat at the kitchen island sipping coffee, passing each other knowing grins. They fucking loved each other, and nothing else mattered.

\----------------------------------------------

Just after midday Bronn drove his boat right up to their property line. He hopped out with a spryness Sansa wouldn’t expect for a man who looked to be closer to fifty than forty. When Sandor told Sansa, Nate, and Jaime this morning about Bronn’s issue with fireworks, they insisted Sandor invite him over for an early supper, promising they’d have him home before dark when the fireworks would start.

Sansa was surprised when Bronn greeted her as if they were long-lost friends, “Red!” he pulled her into a brotherly hug, which was a pleasant contrast to the flirtatious way he spoke to her during their past encounters.

Sandor introduced him to Jaime and Nate, referring to the latter as a friend of the Lannisters. Bronn, like Nate, apparently never showed up anywhere empty-handed. He produced a bottle of scotch for Jaime, a bottle of red wine for Sansa, and all the makings for a crab boil – the pot, the stand, the steamer, and – of course – the crabs. When he opened the basket Sansa screamed and leapt behind Sandor, hoping Bronn wouldn’t think it odd that she sought his protection rather than her husband’s… he was her bodyguard, after all.

“What’s the matter, Red, you don’t like crab?”

“Yes, I love crab, when it’s _cooked_. When they’re alive, they’re the definition of terrifying.”

Bronn shook his head, “Big mistake, Red, never let people know your fears. They’ll use them against you.”

Those were his last words before grabbing a crab out of the bucket and chasing her around the yard with it. She could hear Jaime, Sandor, and Nate belly laughing; it seemed none felt like playing her knight in shining armor. In fact they were clearly on Team Bronn as Jaime shouted, “Watch out man, she kicks!” when Bronn narrowed the gap between them to just a couple feet.

Eventually she made it all the way around the house and back to where the three men stood, with Bronn still hot on her heels.

“Come on, girl, he just wants to give you a kiss,” Bronn laughed, holding the crab out to her as she used Jaime as a human shield, only then learning that she wasn’t the only one afraid of live crabs. Jaime almost knocked her over as he turned to flee, leaving Sansa to fend for herself. Bronn chose the easier prey, resuming his pursuit of Sansa until he finally got winded and decided to yield, “You win, Red. Come on back now.”

Sansa cautiously approached and noticed Jaime doing the same from the opposite direction, “My hero,” she muttered.

Crabs safely contained in their bucket, the fivesome fell into a fun conversation. It was only a bit awkward at first to reorient herself as _Mrs. Lannister_ after spending the entire previous day as Sandor’s girlfriend. But the nice thing about sitting apart from Sandor was that she got to sit back and observe him. She realized her proximity must have softened his edges a bit, as she thought he seemed just a bit more _guyish_ today. Slouching back sipping his beer, exchanging good-natured barbs with Bronn, even chiming in with a couple war stories, though only after Bronn told a few of his own.

Where Sandor was subtly funny, Bronn struck Sansa as a bit of a showman. Making people laugh was something he did as if it was his mission, and he relished in that laughter. He entertained them all with amusing stories. He had a rough childhood, to put it very mildly, but what would have turned other people into sociopaths seemed to mold him into a funny and carefree guy who let just about anything roll off his shoulders. He managed to make his father’s benders sound like the basis for a sitcom.

Despite his coarse speech, he was no dummy. He could talk politics with Jaime, literature with Nate, and even pop culture with Sansa. Catering to the only woman in the group, the men graciously subjected themselves to an impromptu trivia match that evolved when Sansa complimented Bronn on knowing who Drake was when one of his songs came on the radio. Bronn and Sandor went up against Nate and Jaime while Sansa played host using a trivia app on her phone. After Bronn and Sandor were, surprisingly, victorious, Jaime demanded a rematch, “Come on wife, let’s show them how it’s done.” Nate took being replaced in stride and assumed the role of host.

The match came down to the last question as the tiebreaker, and Nate read it with all the suspense due an overtime quarter of the Super Bowl, “Alright… for the win, how many times has Jennifer Lopez been married?”

Without consulting her teammate Sansa shouted out the answer, “Three!”

“That is correct!” Nate proclaimed.

Sansa and Jaime literally jumped up as if they’d won the lottery before sharing a victory kiss.

Bronn shook his head, “All I know about J Lo is that I wouldn’t mind being husband number four.”

“I know, right?!” Sansa exclaimed with a bit too much zeal as four male mouths gaped at her.

She blushed furiously but decided she had no cause for shame, “Look, it’s not my _thing_ , but if it _was_ , it would totally be with J Lo.”

Nate, Jaime, and Sandor were still recovering from their shock, but it was oddly enough Bronn who could sympathize. He nodded and in a rather serious tone said, “Mine’s Idris Elba.”

If Sansa’s statement surprised them, Bronn’s floored them. Sandor turned to him, “Wow, you sure had that one locked and loaded.”

“What? I’m confident in my sexuality,” Bronn sipped his beer casually, “Confidence is sexy in a man, isn’t it, Red?”

Sansa nodded, “Of course.” She turned to Jaime, stroking the nape of his neck, “So hubby, I told you mine, who’s yours?” From where Bronn sat, he couldn’t see the teasing look in her eye.

“Well, I’ve never really thought about it, but I guess I’m going to dip my toe into _that_ pool, I might as well go for the full experience,” he pursed his lips as if deep in thought, “The guy married to Sophia Vergara.”

“Joe Manganiello?” Sansa’s eyes widened.

Jaime shrugged, “I guess.”

“Wow, good choice.”

“See!” Bronn pointed to Jaime but spoke to Sandor, “He’s not afraid!”

Sandor just shook his head while Sansa moved onto her next victim, “Your turn, Nate.”

He shrugged, “Ryan Reynolds… cause at least if the sex is bad, we can laugh about it afterwards.”

Sansa chuckled and turned to Sandor. If looks could kill she’d be dead, but she knew him too well to be intimidated by his scowl, “Your turn.”

“Is this what you people do all day?” he asked in exasperation.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t notice if a guy is good-looking,” Bronn encouraged.

“Notice, yeah, but I don’t think about fucking him!”

“I don’t think about fucking Idris Elba, either. It’s just like, if I had a gun to my head, and the gunman said I had to fuck another man or he’s going to kill me…”

“What kind of deranged criminals are you coming across?”

Jaime tried to help, “Alright, you’re stranded on an island with no chance of rescue but enough food and fresh water to sustain you for a lifetime. Your sole companion is a man.”

“Christ, I’m more likely to encounter Bronn’s perverted murderer.”

“Alright look,” Bronn compromised, “you don’t have to know off the top of your head, but before I leave tonight, I want an answer.”

“Fine,” Sandor conceded.

Temporarily satisfied, Bronn set about making the crabs, promising Sansa he’d kill them humanely before steaming them, which Sansa noticed relieved Sandor as much as her. Sandor took to the grill with some assistance from Jaime, leaving Sansa and Nate free to drink to their hearts’ content. After a couple mojitos they were ready to serenade everyone with their off-key singing, this time to the Rolling Stones. Jaime joined Sansa to dance along to Brown Sugar and Bronn squeezed his way in for Honky Tonk Woman.

To say that it was Sansa’s idea of a perfect day – barring the close encounter with an irate crab – would be an understatement. Sansa was a guy’s girl – always had been – and the four guys around her were nothing short of awesome, both individually and collectively.

When dinner was ready, they ate like Vikings – pulling meat and vegetables off of skewers with their teeth, breaking and sucking on crab legs, washing their food down with gulps of dark ale. By the time they were done eating, the patio table looked like a scene from a horror movie – piles of crab skeletons, sharp metal objects, and napkins smeared dark red from the hot sauce that Sandor and Bronn drizzled on their food. Sansa actually snapped a photo of the table after the guys stood up and posted it to Twitter tagged _#LaborDayMassacre._

After dinner it wasn’t quite dusk, but Bronn was ready to go home, unwilling to risk being outside in case someone started setting off fireworks early. He made his goodbyes and said they should stop by the bar some night for dinner and drinks.

As much as three days of partying sounded like a great idea, it was clear that nonstop drinking was a young man’s game. By 9:30 they were all sipping water by the lake, watching the fireworks display. It truly was a beautiful spectacle – every light and sparkle reflected in the lake. It felt good to lean into Sandor’s side after having to keep her hands off him all day long. Jaime and Nate seemed to be similarly affected.

The swell of happiness in Sansa’s chest was overwhelming – her heart and throat literally fluttering with emotion. With one arm still wrapped around Sandor’s waist she stretched her hand out to Jaime, who smiled and clasped her hand while keeping Nate in his embrace.

“You guys are awesome,” she said in a voice made high-pitched with emotion.

Nate winked, “You’re not so bad yourself there, kitten.”

“Oh shit,” Sandor suddenly exclaimed.

“What?” Jaime asked worriedly.

“I forgot to tell Bronn the actor I’d… well… if I had to…”

Three sets of eyes stared at him expectantly. He mumbled, “Should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

He began to retreat to the house, but Sansa pulled his arm, “No, you’re not going anywhere until you tell us who you picked!”

“Like you could stop me?” he raised an eyebrow at her in challenge.

“No, but all three of us could,” Jaime said as he and Nate bravely moved to block Sandor’s path, “er, I think we can.”

Sandor huffed loudly, lowering his head as he mumbled his answer with needless shame, “The guy that plays Magneto in the X-Men movies – _young_ Magneto, that is…”

“Michael Fassbender?!” Sansa and Nate shrieked in giddy unison.

Sansa had so many things to say – commend his choice, thank him for sharing, assure him that confidence really was sexy, admit that the first image that came to mind was of Michael Fassbender giving Sandor a blow job and that it was weirdly hot – but before she could voice any of her deranged thoughts Sandor raised a hand in front of her.

“Not. One. Word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too much? Well then too bad because I can't stop myself. 
> 
> If everything seems too perfect for our gal Sansa it's because it is. There are plenty of dark SanSan / Jaimsa / TySan etc. fics out there, and I love them all. This is my happy little escape.
> 
> Having said that, there will be some occasional bumps in the road / angst. But nothing our characters can't get through together 


	23. Perfect Weekend III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Labor Day

Thanks to an early night Sunday, everyone woke refreshed and ready for Day 3 of their marathon. Jaime was delighted to see Nate and Sansa handling kitchen duty for a change, making a big batch of scrambled eggs and toast with sliced tomatoes on the side. Jaime and Sandor watched, trying not to wince at the unnecessary number of bowls and utensils being dirtied, the raw egg-coated forks being placed directly on the countertop, and raw egg covered fingers being wiped on white kitchen towels.

Jaime grasped Sandor’s shoulder, needing to distract himself from the compulsive desire to disinfect everything in the kitchen, including his wife and boyfriend, “Nice to sit back and let the women chook for a change, isn’t it?” he joked.

Nate spoke over his shoulder, “I heard that. And if you think anyone would believe _I’m_ the woman, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

Sansa went conspicuously silent. Nate turned to her, “What?”

“Nothing,” she answered too casually, busying herself putting dirty dishes in the sink, much to Jaime’s relief.

“What?!” Nate asked more persistently. When he was met with more silence he turned to Sandor, “I know I can get the truth from you, do you guys think _I’m_ the woman?”

“Well, uh, I don’t think of either of you as a woman, but if I had to say one of you was…”

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!” Nate threw a dish towel down in frustration and Jaime sprained some facial muscles trying to contain his smirk.

Nate would not be deterred by the lack of support his case was receiving, “No… you’re all wrong. On the manliness meter it goes,” he held his left hand out straight in the air, “Sandor, me, Sansa, Jaime.” He moved his hand with each name spoken.

“Aww,” Sansa gushed, “You think I’m manlier than Jaime?”

Jaime balked, “What?! And you’re flattered by that?!”

She shrugged, clearly trying to summon more guilt than she felt, “Kinda.”

Jaime rose, shaking his head, and turned to Nate, “No, it’s Sandor, me, you, Sansa.”

They both turned to Sandor, hoping he’d be the tiebreaker, “I don’t really care, just glad we all agree that I’m the manliest,” he smiled smugly.

Sansa brought order to the chaos, pulling a pad of paper and pen out of the neatly organized junk drawer, “This begs for a scientific approach.”

She divided the paper into columns, “Alright, let’s agree on what makes a person manly…”

They decided on four categories: Strength & Fitness, Handiness, Sports Knowledge, and Romance. Each category had three challenges or questions.

They started with Handiness, Sansa testing them while Sandor kept score. In the garage, Sansa placed a variety of tools on a table. Since she lived on her own for several years, she knew how to use most of them and what they were all called.

While Nate kept his eyes covered, Sansa commanded Jaime to bring her the Allen Wrench. He returned with the adjustable wrench, earning an amused smirk from Sandor. On Nate’s turn he produced the small L-shaped tool, earning an approving nod from Sansa and Sandor.

“Question 2: if your toilet is clogged and the plunger is ineffective, what tool should you use next?”

Jaime wrinkled his nose and shrugged. Nate rolled his eyes, “Toilet auger.”

“Correct! Last question, and we are using the honor system here, how many times in your life have you changed a flat tire?”

Nate shouted out, “Three!”

Jaime hung his head, “What’s the point of paying Triple-A if I’m still going to change my own tires?”

The next category was Sports & Fitness. Though Nate made a strong showing, Jaime swept the category in 30-yard dash, arm wrestling, and push-ups. He was pleased to see Sansa quirk an eyebrow suggestively at him after his impressive display.

In the Sports category Jaime got one question right while Nate took the other two.

Finally they were onto the Romance category.

“What is the traditional gift for a 25th wedding anniversary?”

Jaime answered first, “Silver!”

“Correct! Next question, back to the honor system, how many times have you _not_ called a date – woman or man – after you said you were going to?”

Nate laughed, “Let’s just say I won that question.” Jaime nodded his head in shamed agreement.

“Last question,” Sandor interjected, “If Nate gets it right, he is the manlier man. If Jaime gets it right, we’ll have a tie.”

Sansa rubbed her hands together in excitement, “Alright – for a win or tie – what is Clark Gable’s last line in _Gone with the Wind_?”

Jaime didn’t even have to think, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Sansa grinned, “Ding, ding, ding! And kudos on the accent, hubby,” she winked at Jaime.

Nate rolled his eyes at her, “Alright Richard Dawson, what do you have in mind for the tiebreaker?”

She shrugged, “I didn’t think it would come to this. Any ideas?”

Sandor surprisingly had a suggestion, “Make Sansa swoon.”

“Huh?” Nate looked confused.

“You each get a few minutes to think up a line that would make a woman swoon – Sansa will be the judge.”

Sansa clapped her hands together, “Great idea, and I’ll judge it based on words _and_ delivery.”

Nate narrowed his eyes before agreeing, “Alright, kitten, I trust you’ll be a fair judge. To be clear, we’re not talking about pickup lines, right?”

“Right,” Sandor nodded, “this is to make _our Sansa_ weak in the knees.”

Jaime and Nate got two minutes to come up with something. Nate volunteered to go first. He stood face to face with Sansa, and cupped her cheek tenderly, “Sansa, even the brightness of the sun is no match for the fire of your hair, the sparkle in your eyes, and the warmth of your heart. You are a woman without equal.” He concluded with a kiss to her knuckles and Sansa clutched her hand to her heart, clearly pleased and flattered by his sweet words.

Sandor had now taken over the role of host, “Wow, that’s gonna be tough to beat, Lannister.”

Jaime knew he was taking a bit of a risk, but there was no turning back now. He approached his wife and took her hands, “Sansa, if I was being sent to my death, I’d request you for my last meal, and I’d die happy with your milky white thighs in my hands, and your honey on my tongue.”

“Hmm,” Sansa gasped out involuntarily. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide. Without taking her eyes off Jaime she said, “Sorry Nate.”

Nate was a good sport, “No apology needed, that shit made _me_ weak in the knees.” Though not willing to let Jaime off the hook too easily he nodded at Sandor, “You got winner?”

…

The day went by way too quickly, likely because they all knew it was the end of their perfect weekend. Nate would be leaving after dinner. Tomorrow Jaime would be up early and back into workaholic mode. But at least, Sansa thought smiling, she and Sandor would have their alone time again. She didn’t resent Jaime or Nate’s company – quite the opposite – but she also loved when it was just the two of them. His walls came down even more. He was openly affectionate in small sweet ways and sinfully sexy ways. They would drive around town running errands – dry cleaning, grocery shopping – then work around the house and grounds – then enjoy each other’s company in the pool, bedroom, shower, den… pretty much anywhere they pleased. Sitting poolside she thought back to when Sandor took her on the kitchen table. Afterwards, out of a respect to the man of the house’s slight case of germaphobia, he even wiped down the table with Lysol.

Today they lounged by the pool, Sandor and Jaime begrudgingly taking turns slathering Sansa’s back and shoulders with sunscreen more times than they could count. Sandor grumbled, “What’s the point of using SPF-70 if you still reapply it every thirty minutes?”

Nate came to her defense, “Don’t let them pressure you Sansa, your skin is a perfect white canvas, you keep it safe.”

Sandor mumbled something about Nate not being the one to have greasy hands all day, but by now everyone was well practiced in ignoring Sandor’s grouchy utterances. Sansa and Nate ignored him as they sang along to today’s featured artist, Steve Winwood.

They decided to eat early at 3 o’clock so Nate wouldn’t have to hurry home right after dinner.

When Sandor proudly brought out the pies Jaime complimented the choice, “Oh, cherry and blueberry – red and blue – nice touch, man.”

Sandor grinned, “At least _someone_ appreciates me around here,” he said in his _put-upon wife_ imitation that always made everyone laugh.

Sansa spoke between giggles, “I take it back; Nate is the manliest of you all.”

…

It was dusk when they saw Nate safely to his Uber. They were all pretty hammered and had spent the last five minutes gushing about how they couldn’t wait to have a repeat of the perfect weekend for Thanksgiving, New Year’s Eve, St. Patrick’s Day, and Memorial Day. Hugs abounded, and Nate promised Sansa he’d stop by in a couple weeks with the finished painting. “And then…” Sansa, who was feeling pleasantly uninhibited, held her hair up in her hands, imitating the Faye Dunaway photo Nate had showed her, earning a hearty chuckle from Nate.

Sansa, Sandor, and Jaime put away the leftovers and washed the dishes. “Go outside and have a smoke,” Jaime offered, “I’ll put the dishes away.”

Too tipsy to put up an argument Sansa gave him a quick thank you kiss and led Sandor to the veranda where they snuggled up and shared a cigarette.

“This weekend was perfect,” Sansa said, a bit wistfully.

“Mmhmm… I can’t believe I’ve found not just one but three people I can be around for 36 hours straight without searching for a window to escape out of.”

Sansa swatted his chest but continued her melancholy train of thought, “I wish it didn’t have to end.”

She heard the rumble in his throat before the words came out, “The night’s not over yet…” He turned to face her and captured her lips in a fierce kiss, his left hand lacing into her hair while the right pulled her against him.

“Mmm,” she groaned into his mouth, “I love when you taste like whiskey and cigarettes.”

He smiled, “What about when I taste like coffee and cigarettes?”

“Mmm! Even better,” she licked his lips playfully, but it stoked the fire in him that, like a pilot light, was never fully extinguished. He turned to sit upright again and pulled her to him so that she was straddling his lap. His hands wandered her back as they kissed heatedly, taking turns trailing a wet path down the other’s neck. Sansa slid her hand into his now-dry swim trunks and grasped him firmly, causing him to bite her shoulder with even more lust than usual.

His hands yanked her short sundress up and over her head in one fluid motion, leaving her in nothing but the bikini she’d had on all day. He grabbed a breast greedily with one hand as the other gripped her ass, dragging their still-clothed loins against one another.

So hot and heavy were they that they didn’t hear Jaime slide the door open, or even see him approach until he sat on the chair opposite them. They immediately froze like a pair of teenagers caught by their parents, until his voice, deep with lust, spoke, “Don’t let me stop you.”

Sansa turned back to Sandor, who was still motionless. The arousal she felt at Jaime’s words was undeniable, and simultaneously felt like it had just been born and yet had been there all along. But she didn’t expect Sandor to share her excitement at the prospect. Not wanting to ask explicitly for fear of embarrassing him, she asked with her action instead, kissing him firmly on the mouth. She could practically hear his inner debate as he remained still for agonizingly long seconds, but then his mouth opened for hers, and his hands returned to her body. The heat was back as if it had never been turned down. Mouths and fingers claimed flesh possessively. Sansa could have spent hours just kissing and rubbing their bodies together, but remembering they had an audience made her surprisingly anxious to move onto the next act.

She stood up, strategically placing herself where she blocked Sandor’s view of Jaime. She untied her bikini top and let it fall away. Then she bent over more than was necessary to pull off the bottoms, twisting around just enough to toss them to Jaime.

Sandor didn’t waste any time in descending on her newly exposed skin, leaning forward to lave her breasts with attention. She took advantage of his position to pull his shirt off, then pushed him back gently but firmly. She pulled his shorts down to his ankles but swiftly covered his sex with her own, still unsure how comfortable he was with Jaime’s eyes on him. They resumed their hungry kissing as she straddled him, his cock pressed against her slit.

Despite his obvious arousal she needed to give him one more chance to back out of this, to know it was okay. She broke their kiss to lean her forehead against his, “Sandor?” she breathed. He answered with a hand stroking her thigh, not hurried and violent but tender and loving.

She nodded, pressing her lips against his mouth almost lazily as her hand led him into her channel. Behind her she heard a whimper, and knew Jaime was enjoying the show.

Once he was fully sheathed, she began rolling her hips languidly, savoring every inch of his glorious manhood. This was far from Sansa’s favorite position, but there was something instinctively pleasing about the way her weight pushed down on him, putting the tip of his shaft in contact with her womb every time she let herself drop.

With hands braced on his shoulders she leaned forward, knowing it would expose their point of juncture to Jaime. Imagining how they looked from Jaime’s point of view made her cunt flutter in unbridled pleasure. She had never climaxed in this position without external stimulation but felt like she might be able to tonight as Sandor guided her hips into a faster pace. She felt sweat rolling down her back in the humid evening air but was barreling toward something she needed so badly it hurt.

Suddenly a warmth radiated behind her, and she realized Jaime had approached. Sandor must have seen him but obviously hadn’t done anything to deter him.

Sansa sat up straighter, still allowing Sandor to guide her rhythm as she felt Jaime turn her chin gently toward him. He planted a single tender kiss on her lips, “Come on his cock, wife.”

His words were spoken quietly but with so much conviction that it felt like a command, a command that bypassed her brain and went directly to her core as she almost instantly came so forcefully it was almost painful, the deepest recess of her body clamped around Sandor’s cock.

He must have felt the tremors as well for a few seconds later he was thrusting upwards erratically with his head tossed back, his thick Adam’s apple moving up and down as he groaned his release.

It was only then, as Sansa was coming down from her ecstasy, that she noticed the feeling of fabric rhythmically tapping her back. Had Jaime been pleasuring himself behind her the entire time and she was too wrapped up in her own pleasure to notice? A few moments later she knew he, too, had found his release, as he pressed himself against her and moaned into her shoulder. Though his shorts were a barrier she could feel the heat of his seed against her skin, and almost wished he’d marked her instead.

She wanted to feel bad that Jaime settled for his hand while his _employee_ basked in his wife’s wet heat, but she truly was too relaxed to care. When Jaime pressed a kiss to her temple, she knew she had nothing to apologize for, “You’re magnificent, wife,” he said, breathlessly, before retreating into the house.

She looked down to Sandor, whose softening cock was still buried inside her. She debated what to say but he made the decision for her, “Not. One. Word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we dipped our toes in the JaimSanSan pool and I'm SO hoping it didn't disappoint. I'm simultaneously worried that it was too much and not enough. I definitely don't think Sandor is ready for anything more at this point.
> 
> P.S. hope I didn't offend anyone with the manliness contest. It was all done in good fun.


	24. Thorns

It was late September before Jaime succeeded in securing a dinner meeting with Olenna Tyrell, and Sansa had spent the past week fretting to the point that Jaime and Sandor seemed to be turning her discomfort into their own amusement. When she bought little household decorations that were intended to subtly gain Olenna’s approval, the men teased her incessantly.

“Darling, why don’t you just redecorate the whole house while you’re at it?” Jaime teased.

“Yeah, you can find out what Olenna’s house looks like and create an _exact_ replica, like what SpongeBob does with Squidward’s house…” Sandor added sarcastically.

Sansa scowled at him but couldn’t help but kiss him on the lips, “ _Hate_ that you’re mocking me, _love_ that you pay attention when I’m watching cartoons.”

In regards her obsession with minutiae, Sandor sniffed one of the candles she had bought and raised his voice several octaves to imitate Sansa, “Oh darn! I wanted basil and peppermint, this is like basil and _spearmint_!”

Jaime played along, “Spearmint! Now everything’s ruined – Olenna will think we’re white trash!”

Sansa ignored them and focused on the screen of her Surface. She was taking a self-guided crash course in Olenna Tyrell. Her likes, dislikes, political affiliations, charitable activities, and business ventures. What made it difficult was that the woman seemed equal parts righteous and ruthless. She was a staunch supporter of environmental preservation and child welfare related causes. In her younger years she made an annual trip to visit and support orphanages in Sri Lanka. She seemed to have an axe to grind with every man on the planet, including her own son, Mace. She was known for profiting from the failings of others – buying companies on the brink of bankruptcy or buying real estate during economic recessions. And she had no shame about it – she saw it as capitalism in its intended form.

She’d become known as the Queen of Thorns during her youth. The nickname was due to her beauty which belied her cutthroat nature, as well as the fact that she had a fresh bouquet of roses delivered to her office every morning. Apparently, she became an avid botanist at some point in her life. Sansa found Olenna’s home featured in a home and garden magazine from several years ago. The photos of her gardens were breathtaking – rows upon rows of rose bushes in every color imaginable. While Sansa found roses to be pretty boring as far as flowers went, she ate up all these tidbits with excitement, squeaking happily and jotting down notes each time she discovered a piece of information that she could use. Much to her delight, that included the fact that Olenna was a co-owner of a successful chain of upscale steakhouses – the kind that are in casinos and resorts. That helped Sansa decide the menu.

After days of preparation Sansa looked down at her sloppy list of random words and phrases:

> Hide tank
> 
> Get flowers (not roses – too obvious)
> 
> Beef tenderloin?
> 
> Adoption?
> 
> Tough old bitch
> 
> Feminist / Men are stupid 

She made a few online transactions and then called Jaime and Sandor to the kitchen. They arrived simultaneously but from opposite directions, and immediately stood side-by-side at attention in mock military salute. Sansa wanted to chastise them but was too focused to care. Olenna would be coming on Tuesday evening and it was now Sunday night.

“Alright, Sandor – how’s your beef tenderloin?”

“Sir, my beef tenderloin is top-notch, sir.”

Jaime snickered beside him.

Sansa rolled her eyes but handed him the print-out of a recipe she’d found online for a beef tenderloin with a pomegranate chutney, “Here’s your assignment, soldier.”

“Understood, sir. I won’t let you down, sir.”

She laughed and shook her head, “Okay, enough… this is serious.”

The men dropped their hands but leaned forward and widened their eyes as if hanging on her every word.

“You know, you two are a pair of assholes… anyway, Sandor, you can go to the market Tuesday to get what we need for dinner. I’ll need to stay here for the flower delivery.”

“Flowers?” Jaime asked.

“Please save all questions for the end. Anyway,” she turned back to Sandor, “I want the tank parked in the garage. Jaime, park your Audi in the driveway when you get home. It’s still a gas-guzzler, but it’ll have to do.”

“Are you sure? I could pick up a Prius after work tomorrow,” Jaime offered with sarcastic casualness.

“Don’t tempt me… Now, Jaime, pay attention,” she handed him another print-out, “these are Esther and Roseline, twin eight-year-old girls from Haiti. We sponsor them. But don’t bring it up, that’ll be too obvious, we’re just putting their pictures on the fridge, I might doodle some drawings – do you have crayons anywhere?”

Jaime blinked at her, horrified.

She sighed, “Don’t judge me Jaime _Lannister…_ anyway, another thing – Olenna has got it out for the entire male sex, so you may have to suffer through some husband jokes – you know, not listening, impatient, stubborn – that kinda thing…”

“So, pretty much like every other night?”

“Pretty much, smartass. And she invests a lot in female-owned companies. She respects other alpha-females so don’t be afraid to talk about Brienne being your campaign manager, or Cersei helping out.”

“Or my drill sergeant of a wife?”

“I hope you’re taking this seriously. And I am _not_ a drill sergeant.”

“Oh – I have an idea!” Sandor said excitedly.

Thinking he was finally contributing to Operation Olenna, Sansa matched his enthusiasm, “You do?!”

“Yeah, you guys should dress up as Maverick and Charlie from _Top Gun_ for Halloween.”

“Yes! Great idea!” Jaime slapped him on the shoulder in praise.

Sansa dropped her head in defeat, “Change of plans, both of you get out the house on Tuesday, and I’ll woo Olenna Tyrell myself.”

\------------------------------------------

Despite their jesting, Sandor and Jaime did not let Sansa down. Sandor’s beef tenderloin was mouth-watering, and he didn’t even stick around to take credit, heading down to the bar to hang out with Bronn fifteen minutes before Olenna was due to arrive.

The dinner with the _Queen of Thorns_ was a splendid success, and Sansa enjoyed the woman’s sharp wit. She was as un-politically correct as a person could be. She actually reminded Sansa of Cersei to some degree – both were strong-willed women who were not ashamed of their wealth and made no excuses for themselves.

Olenna was brutally honest and often hilarious, sharing stories about certain business and political figures that she’d had run-ins with over the years, including a tale of beating Jaime’s father in a bidding war over a tech company that went on to make her hundreds of millions.

But quite possibly the highlight of the evening was getting to watch Jaime in his element. He was such a people person. So charming and charismatic; so passionate when speaking about causes he cared about. Sansa imagined many people thought it must be disingenuous, and worried that Olenna might be one of them.

Sansa waited patiently for the opportunity to speak on Jaime’s behalf, and Olenna handed her the opportunity on a silver platter. “I must say, when I heard about your _whirlwind romance_ , I thought it stunk of a publicity stunt – drive up interest in Casterly and Stark Enterprises... I figured the Old Lion put you up to it. But seeing you two together – well either it’s a true love match or you’re damn fine actors.”

Sansa smiled shyly as Jaime took her hand and kissed it. “Sorry to disappoint you, Olenna, because I know it’s more fun to hate on Tywin Lannister, but Jaime and I truly are happily married.”

Olenna chuckled at the Tywin joke, “And why is that, Sansa? What makes Jaime Lannister the object of your affection?”

Sansa shrugged, and pretended to think about it, not wanting her answer to sound rehearsed. In reality she could name a hundred wonderful things about Jaime without coming up for air.

Jaime took her pause as an opportunity for a joke, “Keep it PG now, wife.”

Sansa laughed, “Well, his sense of humor, _obviously_ …”

“Truthfully, when I first met him, I was expecting an arrogant, entitled prick. I thought I’d find out all the handsome smiles you see in photos and videos are just an act. But Jaime is an open book. He’s happy, charming, kind, generous... sometimes annoyingly upbeat, but I’ll take that over the alternative. He’s not afraid to enjoy life, and yet he works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. With all the stress he deals with he ought to be coming home each night and smacking me around,” Sansa joked.

Jaime nodded, “When in fact, _she_ smacks _me_ around.”

“Oh stop,” Sansa swatted him.

He pointed at her, “See what I mean?!”

Sansa realized Olenna was studying them… watching their dynamics as a couple to gauge Jaime as a man. The old woman’s eyes were so piercing that Sansa almost worried that she’d see the truth about their nontraditional marriage but instead she sat forward and spoke conspiratorially to Sansa, “I find it much easier to trust a man when I know there is a woman behind him holding a whip.”

Sansa felt her cheeks blush. She was by no means a controlling wife but giving off that impression seemed to be winning Olenna’s support for Jaime.

When Olenna was ready to leave, Sansa and Jaime walked her to the driveway where her driver was waiting. She thanked Sansa for a lovely dinner and kissed both her cheeks in a very motherly way. She shook Jaime’s hand in a more professional manner, “I expect a call from you tomorrow, Mr. Lannister.”

“I look forward to it, Olenna.”

As the woman was about to duck into her car she turned halfway around with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “Oh, and give my regards to your father.”

Sansa and Jaime walked back inside calmly but as soon as the door was shut behind them, they jumped up and down like giddy children.

“You were incredible!” Jaime exclaimed.

“Me?! You were on fire! So funny, so charming. Confident but not cocky!”

“No, this was all you San.”

“Fine, it was a team victory. But seriously Jaime, seeing you in action... _HOT.”_

He pulled her in for a scorching kiss, “I could say the same about you, Mrs. Lannister.”

Heat spread through Sansa’s veins like wildfire, whether it was the thrill of their success with Olenna, the Cabernet she drank with dinner, or the heat of Jaime’s lips she wasn’t sure, but she felt tingly from head to toe. Jaime kissed her breathless, pulling away just long enough to pant, “Bedroom?” against her lips. Sansa nodded but Jaime was already dragging her up the stairs.

It was the opposite of their previous encounters, which had been tender and unhurried. After depositing her ungently on top of a dresser, clothing was ripped off with no concern for popped buttons or torn seams. Their mouths only parted long enough to let a shirt be lifted overhead. Jaime didn’t bother with her skirt or his pants, ripping away her cotton panties with one hand as he unbuckled himself with the other.

With one hand on her lower back and one on her neck he slid into her with urgency, eliciting a whimper from Sansa who was ready but not expecting such a fast move on his part. Her limbs snaked around his lithe body and held on tight.

When one of his arms let her go to brace against the wall behind her, his pace became furious. The heavy wooden dresser rocked, and little knick-knacks tipped over and rolled off, but Sansa was unconcerned and Jaime uncharacteristically oblivious. His blistering pace had her in ecstasy, and when his lips and teeth met the crook of her neck it super-charged her pleasure until she came hard, head thrown back and his name on her lips. But he gave her no respite, continuing at full speed until he followed her into oblivion a minute later.

Their bodies trembled from the exertion as they recovered, and Sansa’s tailbone was grateful when Jaime lifted her effortlessly to carry her the few steps to his large bed, where sleep claimed them both almost instantly.


	25. Domesticity

“Is that supposed to be your sexy face?” Sandor teased.

“Ha ha ha… at least I _have_ a sexy face,” Sansa retorted.

“Wow, that was just _mean.”_

“I can’t have you guys heckling my model, so if you can’t behave yourselves, go inside,” Nate scolded Jaime and Sandor for the second time, this time with more authority.

It was the first Saturday in October and Nate – who’d spent the night – literally dragged Sansa out of bed at dawn that morning, rambling on about how perfect the morning lighting would be. She showered then did her makeup while her hair airdried, then Nate gave her a men’s white dress shirt to wear.

Now at quarter to nine, while Sandor and Jaime drank coffee in their pajamas, Sansa was cursing her former self for agreeing to this. The upside though was getting to see this serious side of Nate.

Jaime approached and placed a kiss between his shoulder blades, “I love when he’s focused like this.”

“Beat it, you’ll bump me.”

“Maybe I _want_ to bump you, did you think of that?” Jaime said flirtatiously.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! It’s not bad enough I had Nate literally crawl over me to get Sansa out of bed this morning, now I need to hear you talk about bumping uglies?” Sandor stalked off to the kitchen, mumbling to himself.

Sansa struggled not to smile, but was powerless when Jaime started offering “tips” to Nate, “Could you make her hair a few shades lighter? Oh and while you’re at it, maybe we can go up one cup size?”

Sansa gave back as good as she got, “Yeah and Nate – about that nude of Jaime I commissioned, if you could add an inch and a half—”

Jaime threw his hands up, “Fine! I can see I’m not welcome here!”

Once he disappeared through the doors Nate winked at her, “Men!”

When Nate finally called it a wrap Sansa was thrilled, “Thank goodness! I couldn’t hold my arms up another second. I think I need to start working out.”

Nate eyed her skeptically. He knew her too well, and that included her aversion to gyms. Nate had spent almost every weekend at their house since Labor Day, and he and Sansa had even shopped together a couple times, much to Sandor’s relief.

“So, let me see it,” Sansa nodded toward is easel.

“No way kitten, we’ll finish it up tomorrow and then you can see it.”

“Tomorrow?! I need to stand out here again tomorrow morning?!”

“Yeah, you thought I could have it done in under two hours?”

“Well then why didn’t you just take a photo and draw from that?”

Nate shook his head vehemently, “No way; I don’t draw portraits from photographs. Something gets lost in translation.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “You artsy types… anyway, what should we do today?”

“I actually have a lunch date with my parents, but I’ll come back after that.”

Sansa felt surprisingly disappointed, until another thought occurred to her, “Do your parents know… about Jaime?”

“Gods no! Jaime would kill me.”

“But do they know… about _you_?”

“Yeah.”

“And they’re cool with it?”

“More or less. Would they rather I be straight – marry a nice woman, give them grandkids? Of course; but my parents are pretty open-minded people.”

“So are you like… _out?”_ Sansa felt her LGBTQ vocabulary was sorely lacking.

“Partly. I mean I’ve never shouted it from the rooftops, but my family and closest friends know.”

“Hmm… that almost sounds harder than being all the way out, or all the way in. I think I’d forget how to act.”

Nate laughed, “I just _act_ like myself. I’m not a different person.”

Sansa blushed, “I know – I didn’t mean it that way.”

Nate winked at her, “It’s all good. I gotta head out, see you later, okay?” he gave her a peck on the cheek before finding Jaime to say goodbye until later that afternoon.

\-------------------------------------

Jaime promised to only work until noon and kept to his word. His wife was an autumn junkie and though the day was warm she dragged him out to go pumpkin picking at a nearby farm. It was the kind of wholesome family activity that Jaime never had an opportunity to participate in, and only now realized what he had been missing as he watched Sansa put more thought into picking the perfect pumpkin than some people put into picking out a new car.

Finally finding her perfectly symmetrical, unblemished, fat pumpkin, Jaime naively thought they were done for the day. Sansa laughed at him, “No, we need another fat one and two tall, skinny ones.”

“Why?”

“So we can each carve one. In two weekends. We’ll make it a competition.”

Jaime rolled his eyes but secretly loved that Sansa looked for these fun little activities that she and Jaime could do with Nate and Sandor. Their strange little family unit felt perfect. Though he felt a brief pang of envy watching other young couples take photos of their toddlers on their first pumpkin picking excursion, he was mostly happy with the way things were. Still, he wondered whether Sansa longed for a more traditional family. She certainly gave no indications of it, and as they strolled through the rows of pumpkins hand in hand, Jaime felt in no rush to bring up the subject.

A few hours later they pulled into the driveway, noticing Nate’s car was already back. When he walked in, he heard the distant sounds of college football on TV.

“Honeys, we’re home!” Jaime called out. Jaime put away the gallon of apple cider, jar of apple butter, pumpkin roll, pumpkin pie, and apple cider donuts they had bought at the farm, and the twelve-pack of hard cider they stopped for at the liquor store. Apparently pumpkin picking with Sansa turned into an excuse to buy every fall food concoction known to man.

Nate and Sandor were oblivious to him, engrossed in an overtime Penn State game, so he joined Sansa out front where she was setting up corn stalks, scare crows, and of course her family of pumpkins on the porch steps. Jaime marveled at how quickly she worked, “Wow, San, it looks great!”

“Thanks… er, I hope I didn’t take over whatever you normally do…”

“I normally do nothing.”

“Really? I love fall decorations. I get sad when fall’s over, but then I get to put up the winter wonderland, so I get over it pretty quickly.”

Jaime nodded casually but felt inwardly excited about how his festive wife would deck out their home for Christmas. An odd vision of himself hanging ornaments on the tree while Sandor topped it with the star popped into his head. Nate and Sansa were hanging stockings over the fireplace while belting out off-key Bing Crosby and Mills Brothers tunes and occasionally giving Jaime and Sandor commands – like _“move that snowman ornament over two inches to the left.”_

“Earth to Jaime!” Sansa said loudly.

“Sorry,” he snapped back to reality, “What did you say?”

“I asked if you brought in the boxes of mini pumpkins and gourds.”

“No, I just put away the groceries then came out here.”

“Well chop-chop!” she swatted his butt. Sansa would make an excellent foreman in Santa’s workshop, he thought lovingly as he retrieved the boxes from the car.

After joining the guys to watch the nail-biting (for them) final plays of the game, they all went out back to find Sansa busily covering every table with little pumpkins and wort-covered gourds.

“What the fuck is that smell?” Sandor shouted.

“Scented pinecones,” she answered chipperly.

“Ugh, I feel like I just did a line of cinnamon.”

“I know, right?”

“I didn’t mean that in a good way.”

“Oh relax, it smells nice. Here, this reminded me of you,” she retrieved a yellow gourd from the box and plopped it in Sandor’s hand.

He looked down at the gourd in horror, “It looks like a giant cock and balls.”

She winked, “I know.”

Nate doubled over in laughter but eventually composed himself, “Well you weren’t the only ones reaping the bounties of nature today. Bronn stopped by in the boat to drop off a little present,” he grinned impishly as Sandor withdrew a baggy from his pocket.

Sansa’s eyes lit up when she saw the earthy green contents, “Oh this day just keeps getting better.”

…

Jaime rarely partook in anything other than alcohol, but when he did, he found the most entertaining part was sitting back and seeing the different facets of his friends’ personalities emerge.

Nate – amazing Nate – Jaime sighed inwardly... Nate got stoned and began questioning aloud all of life’s great mysteries. Like where does the universe end? What happens when we die? What do dogs think about? Are there really ghosts? Wouldn’t it be cool if there were replicators like in Star Trek?

Sandor simply became more talkative, revealing parts of his personality that were always there but well-hidden. It was clear that he was an auto-didact. While other people watched cat videos on Youtube, he watched physicists and astronomers explaining the latest scientific theories. While other people watched reruns of _Law & Order_ and _Seinfeld_ , he watched the History Channel and Science Channel.

After patiently explaining String Theory to Nate in response to one of his philosophical questions, Nate simply stared back in awe, “Dude! I have no idea what you just said, but I’m pretty sure it was amazing.”

Jaime himself became quieter in a peaceful way – enjoying observing the dynamics of everyone else rather than adding his two cents into every conversation. Which was convenient as, with this lot, he’d never have gotten a word in edgewise.

Sansa was her usual chatterbox self, but with a _purpose_. Much like how she passionately demerited John Travolta during their honeymoon, she was now putting equal fervor into convincing them all the modern education system was designed to create a dumbed down society. Just when Jaime was becoming drawn to her cause she’d fall into a rabbit hole, and just as passionately gripe about some other subject, like how homicidal she gets when the first car in the turning lane doesn’t notice the green arrow and sits there wasting precious right-of-way seconds. Or how there should be a universal standard for clothing and shoe sizes. Then she’d somehow make her way back to the education system, conclude her argument, and make Jaime want to applaud her not for the points she made, but for remembering what the fuck her original topic was.

But by far the greatest revelation about his companions was that Sansa and Nate – their resident DJs and singers – became a pair of gangsta’s when under the influence. Sansa somehow knew all the words to _Big Poppa,_ and even moved her shoulders and hips the way a man would, as if she could relate to the primal male urge to sow one’s seed. When her performance was over Sandor summed up what all three men were thinking, “Wowwww… I dunno whether to be scared or aroused.”

Jaime chuckled, “San, you had us listening to Bluegrass last night, now 90s hip-hop… I appreciate your eclectic style but you’re making my head spin.”

But their words fell on deaf ears as Sansa literally jumped out of her chair when the next song started – _One Minute Man_ by Missy Elliott. Nate seemed to share her appreciation of the song as he stood to join her in a very Caucasian rendition that was more Broadway than Brooklyn.

Sandor groaned and covered his eyes a few times, though Jaime was impressed Sansa knew all the words and Nate could fill in for the Ludacris solo.

As Nate and Sansa plopped into their chairs, Jaime thought about the lyrics and turned to both of them, “I hope you weren’t trying to tell me something…”


	26. Oops

Though Sandor had come to genuinely enjoy the company of both Jaime and Nate, he still felt like a kid in a candy store whenever he knew he and Sansa would have the house to themselves for the night. Usually it was no more than one night when Jaime traveled to another Casterly office or to meet with a business partner or potential political supporter, but this week Jaime would be leaving Tuesday morning to fly to Chicago and not coming back until Friday morning.

The only thing that dampened Sandor’s spirits slightly was that Sansa was back in recon mode, learning everything she could about Oberyn Martell and his long-time girlfriend Ellaria, who Sansa and Jaime would be having over for dinner on Saturday night to hopefully woo the way they had wooed Olenna Tyrell. Oberyn was a real estate mogul who owned vacation and residential properties through much of the south and southwest.

Sansa was laying on her bed, scrolling through photos of Oberyn’s private island in the gulf coast. It was called Sunspear and looked like a little private oasis. At seven acres it wasn’t huge, Sansa explained, but it was considered one of the most impressive private islands in the region thanks to the impeccable design of the compound – hurricane proof buildings: a main house plus four smaller, beautifully-appointed guest houses, two salt water pools, a tennis court, and a long dock where up to fifteen boats could anchor.

The Martell family were famous for throwing lavish parties at Sunspear and had been known to rub elbows with celebrities, politicians, and big wigs in the business world. Sansa was reading a 2010 Forbes interview with Oberyn about how he started his real estate investment company with $50,000 he borrowed from his older brother. Within five years he’d attracted more investors and owned a real estate portfolio valued at over $10 million. Another five years later he’d bought out most of his early investors. He was now worth a cool billion, though since most was tied up in real estate he didn’t seem to live as extravagantly as some other men of his economic status. When not at Sunspear, he lived in a house similar to Jaime’s – comfortable and private, but only six bedrooms when he could easily afford to live in a true mansion.

Though his life was not without tragedy, Sansa was sad to share. When he was a teenager his older sister and her two children had been murdered by a deranged ex-boyfriend who had been arrested numerous times for domestic abuse, stalking, and trespassing, but never seemed to do more than a few months’ time behind bars. He was out on bail when he murdered them. Oberyn only opened up about this event for the first time ten years ago when he was thirty-four and did so not to gain pity but to emphasize the need for better resources for battered women, and tougher punishments for repeat violent offenders.

Sandor had been leaning over her kissing her neck like a dog begging for attention when she shook her head, “Fuck prison. A man who beats up on his wife and kids should be castrated, along with the rapists, for that matter. And if that doesn’t teach him a lesson then line him up for the firing squad.”

Sandor froze at her words and sat back against the headboard. A few minutes later Sansa rubbed her eyes, closed her laptop and turned around to join him, only he clearly wasn’t doing a good job hiding his emotions for her eyes widened upon seeing him.

“Hey… you okay?” she asked, seeking his hand where it laid on the bed.

“Fine.” But he wasn’t fine. He had gone a long time without thinking about his father and older brother – or more accurately gone a long time without letting himself dwell on them. Of course every time he looked in a mirror he thought of his brother.

“What’s wrong,” Sansa whispered as she laid her head against his shoulder, “think my castration plan is too harsh?”

He forced a chuckle, “Not harsh enough.”

“Sandor, what’s wrong?” She looked at him, genuinely concerned. He could feel her gaze as she tried to read his thoughts, though he was confident she’d never in a million years guess how fucked up his childhood was, or how fucking despicable his brother was to everyone he met, but especially women.

She lowered her head, “Is it because of Joffrey?”

Sandor was genuinely puzzled that she’d drawn this conclusion, “What about Joffrey?”

“What he tried, I mean.”

Sandor turned his head to face her, all thoughts of his brother now gone from his mind. He narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean?”

She blushed and shook her head, “I just meant… him… ya know, being a douche bag, treating women like objects, all that stuff.”

“Sansa…”

“What?!”

Sansa was many things, but she was not a particularly good liar.

Sandor sat up on his knees, “What did Joffrey do to you?” he heard the anger in his voice despite his effort to not let it through.

“Nothing! Nothing happened, can you calm down?”

“Alright…” Sandor took a deep breath, “Then what did he _try_?”

“Nothing, just, you know he was kind of handsy,” she stated too casually.

“Aye, but we weren’t talking about men that are handsy. We were talking about mean that are…” He couldn’t say the words. _Abusive. Rapists._

She stood up and walked into her adjoining bathroom, brushing her teeth as an obvious ploy to end the discussion, but it continued in Sandor’s head. He remembered the conversation he witnessed between Cersei and Joffrey months ago – the day Cersei assigned him to be Sansa’s live-in bodyguard at Jaime’s house. Joffrey had said he cared about Sansa, that he liked her, that she was different. He said he fucked her and based on the rest of the conversation Sandor had assumed he pressured her into doing something she didn’t really want to do, or maybe got her so drunk she went along with it. When Sandor found Sansa at the bodega, she was joking around with him – certainly not the behavior of a woman who’d been brutalized the night before.

She rinsed out her mouth and walked past him into the bedroom, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her, “Tell me what he did… or tried to do.”

“Look Sandor, it’s over. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“If it wasn’t a big deal then tell me.”

She huffed, “Nothing happened, okay? He was just drunk and…”

“And?”

“And he got kind of forceful.”

“He hit you?!”

“No! He slapped me, but I had slapped him first. He tried to get my pants off, but he was too fucking drunk and he passed out. That’s all, okay? Can we move on now?”

But moving on was the last thing Sandor wanted to do. His hands balled into fists. He knew how Joffrey was – knew he sometimes got too rough or took advantage of a woman’s drunken state, but imagining him trying that with Sansa – _his_ Sansa, had Sandor seeing red. The little fucker had whined to Sandor about how much he liked Sansa, that it wasn’t fair that she was going to be married to his uncle, and Sandor stood there listening. Gods how Sandor now wished he could back in time to pulverize that little shit. Break his hands and his fucking cock so he could never use them again.

“Sandor!”

He aware Sansa was speaking to him, putting her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to calm him but neither her voice nor touch was penetrating the wall of rage trapping him inside his own head with his own thoughts. He didn’t think before slamming his fist through the bathroom door – once, twice, three times. He only snapped out of it when he heard Sansa’s shriek and turned to see her, eyes wide, hands over her mouth. She looked frozen in place but when he reached out to her, she backed up and out of the room, darting to Jaime’s bedroom and locking the door shut behind her.

“Fuck!” Sandor shouted. He knew he’d lost his temper, knew he shouldn’t have resorted to a physical outburst, but he had taken his anger out on a door, not on her, even though part of his anger was directed at her for never telling him what Joffrey did. He was 99% mad at Joffrey and 1% mad at Sansa, but he never would have laid a finger on her. He’d never struck a woman in his entire life, even when provoked, like when he had to throw a particularly rowdy chick out of Joffrey’s penthouse and the girl started kicking and punching him, he never used any more force than was necessary to get her out the door.

He knocked on Jaime’s door, “Sansa… I’m sorry, okay? But I wouldn’t have hit you, please tell me you know that.”

She didn’t respond.

“Look, I got it out of my system, okay? I’m sorry that I scared you, but I swear I’d never hurt you.”

When she still didn’t answer his mind started racing, wondering what state she was in – scared? Crying? Calling the cops?

Then he remembered the day she mentioned being hit by men in the past, and something Jaime once alluded to, that she may have had past relationships that were abusive. Sandor felt like he’d be sick. Why did he have to lose it in front of her? Why couldn’t he have gone outside for a cigarette to cool off – or swung at the punching bag in the basement gym?

He knocked very lightly, “Sansa, can you just tell me you’re okay? You don’t have to open the door.”

But agonizing seconds later the door did open, and Sansa’s eyes were dry, though her pupils were dilated, and her face looked even paler than usual.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, “I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t hit me, I just… _reacted_ , I guess.”

“Hey,” Sandor reached for her hand, and breathed a sigh of relief when she accepted the contact, “you have nothing to apologize for, alright? I’m sorry you had to see that. Sorry it scared you. I feel like a fucking ass.”

She shook her head passionately, “No, you’re NOT an ass. I like that you’re protective of me, Sandor. And truthfully if you told me some woman hit you or hurt you in some way, I’d be hunting her down as we speak, it’s just…”

Sandor smiled at the thought that she felt just as protective of him as he did of her. All one hundred and thirty pounds of her and all two hundred and sixty pounds of him – but he didn’t want to get sidetracked, “I get it… because of other guys you’ve known,” he finished her thought.

She blushed but nodded before pressing herself against his chest, “I’m sorry I brought up Joffrey. I kind of forgot that you didn’t know the whole story. I didn’t tell you initially because I didn’t want to make it hard for you, since you worked for him. Then once you and I got attached, I didn’t tell you because, well…”

“You were afraid I’d punch a hole in a door?”

She chuckled, “I was afraid you’d punch a hole in Joffrey.”

“Still might,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Please don’t. He’s my nephew now, remember?”

Sandor huffed, “I’ll let sleeping dogs lie, but if that fucking punk ever puts his hands on you…”

She looked up at him, her chin still pressed into his chest, “That’s your job, remember? You’re my bodyguard.”

He looked down at her and grinned, “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Too busy cooking and doing laundry and pulling weeds and going to the grocery store…”

“Fine, you’re my bodyguard, chauffer, personal chef, maid, butler, landscaper, and sex slave. You forgot that last one.”

He nipped her lip, “Didn’t forget, I was just under the impression that _you_ were _my_ sex slave.”

She shrugged and spoke in a voice of exaggerated surrender, “Oh-kay… I guess that’s fair.”

She yelped as he lifted her up and carried her back to her bedroom, “Damn right it is.”


	27. Perfect

“Red!” Bronn practically shouted across the bar when Sandor and Sansa entered Thursday night for a late dinner.

“Hey Bronn!” Sansa answered before leaning over the bar to give Bronn a peck on the cheek.

“Mmm, made my night, love.”

“Well how bout you make _our_ night and get us a couple of burgers? We’re famished!”

“You’re always famished!”

Sansa waved away his comment, “And a pitcher, we’re thirsty.”

“You’re always thirsty!”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “If I want someone to point out how much I eat and drink I can get that at home, you know.”

Bronn feigned shock, “Hubby giving you a hard time? I know a place where we can dump the body.”

Sansa slapped his arm playfully.

“Seriously, Red, you and I can be on the beach in Costa Rica in no time… sipping Piña coladas, couples’ massage, live off your husband’s money…”

She pursed her lips, “That _is_ tempting, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten rather attached to him, and he looks pretty good on a beach…”

Bronn crossed his hands over his chest, “But you don’t even know how good _I_ look on a beach.”

“Ugh,” Sandor, groaned, “Can we get those burgers to go?”

“Alright big fella,” Bronn said, “we’ll spare you the details… so what did you guys do all day today that you’re not eating dinner until eight o’clock?”

Sansa took a sip of her beer, “We’ve been running errands, cleaning the house, picking up groceries…”

“…cyber-stalking rich guys,” Sandor added.

“Oh hush,” Sansa scolded playfully before turning back to Bronn, “Jaime and I are entertaining a potential contributor on Saturday night.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm, his name is Oberyn Martell and his girlfriend Ellaria is coming.”

“No shit?! That guy is my hero!”

“Really?”

“Yeah… when I first started investing in real estate – buying and renting or buying and flipping – I read one of his books. Had a lot of great tips, not the normal shit that’s common sense but stuff you wouldn’t think of.”

“Like what?” Sandor asked.

Bronn shrugged, “Red flags to look out for when buying a house at auction; alternative lending sources that are faster than traditional mortgages; little things to look for that show you how well the previous owners maintained a house. But it’s really well written, it’s not just a ‘how to’ guide – he weaves in funny stories from his actual life – properties he bought for a steal in his early days only to find they needed huge repairs; odd things he used to find under carpet or behind wall paneling when he did his own renovations…”

Sansa had never seen Bronn look so serious about something, and it was clear he couldn’t stop singing Oberyn’s praises, “The guy is the real deal image of the American Dream – start with almost nothing, work hard, and next thing you know – billionaire.”

“Wow… this is really helpful, Bronn. I can’t wait to meet this guy.”

“I am so jealous of you!” Bronn gushed.

“Like, oh my god, he’s so dreamy!” Sandor mocked, earning matching glares from Sansa and Bronn. He only rolled his eyes, “Are they butchering the cow back there, man? I’m fucking hungry!”

Bronn, “Anyone ever tell you you’re a real grouch when you’re hungry?”

“He’s a grouch all the time,” Sansa clarified.

“Yeah, yeah, have your fun…” Sandor mumbled.

Sansa clasped his bicep, “Don’t worry, I like you grouchy.” When she turned back toward the bar Bronn was staring at her, and she felt herself blush.

_Fuck!_

She’d fallen into girlfriend mode. They were so at ease around Bronn now that it was almost like hanging out with Jaime or Nate. While Bronn could probably be trusted, Sansa worried that other people – random people – would notice if she was overly friendly with her “bodyguard”. She glanced around the bar casually, and didn’t see anyone staring or whispering, but couldn’t relax the rest of the night.

As soon as they were back at home Sandor sighed, “What’s wrong? You’ve been weird all night.”

“I was being way to friendly or flirtatious with you tonight, and Bronn saw it.”

“So? You’re like that with everyone, including Bronn, he won’t think anything of it.”

“But he gave me a weird look, like he knows something is going on.”

“I think you’re imagining it. Hells, he started off the night by planning Jaime’s murder and your romantic escape to Costa Rica.”

Sansa smiled, “Yeah, you’re right. I probably just imagined it.”

“Good. So we’re not going to over-think it and let it ruin our night, are we?” Sandor asked sternly.

“No!” Sansa answered, like an impertinent child.

“Good girl,” Sandor was already threading his fingers through her hair, something Sansa knew he loved to do at every opportunity. He kissed her firmly, his mustache tickling her lip. She loved how passionate and possessive Sandor was when they kissed; it made her feel so wanted, so feminine. His tongue and lips always seemed to be discovering her for the first time as his large hands held her close to him, as if he was afraid she’d float away. Sansa had never been a huge fan of kissing, but kissing Sandor was an experience unto itself. He poured everything into his kisses. A man of few words, particularly when it came to expressing emotions, he more than compensated by _showing_ how he felt. Every kiss, caress, and thrust was a declaration of love, and tonight he seemed even more effusive than normal as he pulled off Sansa’s sweater and feasted on her breasts, lifting her up to sit on the kitchen counter so he didn’t have to bend as far to cover every inch of the milky white mounds in kisses before sucking a pert nipple into his mouth.

“Sandor,” she moaned. His tongue and lips on her nipples was another heavenly act, and she sometimes thought she could climax from that alone but was too embarrassed to ask him to spend five minutes licking her nipples.

Tonight he seemed to have other ideas anyway, as he brought her down from the counter long enough to pull off her jeans and underwear before lifting her effortlessly back up. His eyes were dark and dangerous as he knelt before her, putting himself nearly level with her center. Without breaking their gaze he drew his pointed tongue slowly up the entire length of her slit, drawing a whimper from her that put a grin on his face. He knew just how to tease her, and he enjoyed doing it until she begged him to get down to business, which tonight she began doing after only three long licks. Ever obedient he set to work on her clit, licking and sucking furiously until she was panting, then slowing his pace.

“Fuck, Sandor,” she said in frustration. He was toying with her on purpose.

After probing her entrance with his tongue he resumed his efforts in earnest, but once again did not let her over the edge. She was panting, face numb, and not above more begging, “ _Please_ , Sandor…”

His tongue circled her clit lazily, and as primed up as she was it was almost enough until he stopped again and in one fluid movement lifted her and spun her around so that her elbows rested on the counter, her shaky legs spread wide as they supported her. He reached around to rub her breasts, letting the length of his manhood rest against her sex. She moved her hips to rub against him, keeping herself right on the cusp of ecstasy.

“Fuck girl,” he growled, apparently forgetting how _he’d_ been torturing _her_ for the past fifteen minutes. His right hand left her breast to guide himself into her heat, hissing as he did so. Though he entered her carefully, slowly, he didn’t waste time before pumping in and out in rapid thrusts, just the way she liked it. Her over-sensitive body was ready to explode, and all it took was his raspy voice whispering, “Come for me, Sansa” for her to burst. She screamed through the blinding climax, completely forgiving Sandor’s earlier teasing for she now knew it built her energy up for what was one of the most powerful releases she’d ever had. She was aware of Sandor’s rough hands stroking her hips lovingly, slowing his tempo so she could bask in the afterglow for a minute before his control seemed to snap, “You’re so fucking perfect, Sansa,” he muttered breathlessly.

A litany of grunts and dirty words spilled from his lips as he spent himself before folding over her body, a heavy, sweaty, hairy mass of muscle that she mused was pretty fucking perfect itself.


	28. The Circle

Jaime once again found himself marveling at his wife. While he spent most of the week out of town dealing with a work crisis, she had planned yet another dinner party that was proving to be a stunning success. They were entertaining Oberyn Martell and his girlfriend Ellaria Sand, and just as Sansa had done with Olenna Tyrell she managed to research and plan the perfect evening for the couple. Sandor had made a delectable seafood dinner – the guy really could cook. And Sansa had briefed Jaime this morning on everything she knew about Oberyn and what topics should be discussed or avoided.

The two couples had been chatting nonstop about everything from fashion to politics. Sansa flattered Oberyn by mentioning how a friend of theirs (Bronn) raved about Oberyn’s book and was a huge fan of his. Oberyn offered to have his assistant mail them an autographed copy and Sansa literally squealed in delight. Jaime couldn’t help but grin at the thought of how happy his wife got simply by making _other_ people happy.

When they got onto the topic of Jaime’s campaign platform Sansa took the back seat, letting Jaime do his thing, but when he and Oberyn got to talking about Jaime’s plans for prison reform he knew Sansa wouldn’t be able to stay quiet. This had proven to be Sansa’s hot button issue, and Jaime loved it…

“It’s disgraceful,” she shook her head, “Nonviolent drug charges bog down the entire legal system – the courts, the probation offices, support programs, and worst of all the prisons. Completely overcrowded with nonviolent offenders while the real criminals slip through the cracks. Do you know how many rape kits go unprocessed each year? That is where our resources should be going – not to punish people whose _crime_ is becoming addicted to drugs – addictions which often stem from the over-prescription of narcotics in our healthcare system…” Sansa’s cheeks flushed, “Sorry, I suppose this isn’t light dinner conversation…”

Jaime smiled and clasped her hand, “My wife is a passionate woman, and lucky for me the causes she is passionate about are the same ones I’m passionate about.”

Oberyn shook his head, “Mrs. Lannister – there is no need to apologize. You’ve touched on a subject I too, find particularly moving. I’ve worked tirelessly to bring stricter punishments to violent criminals, particularly those who target their violence at innocents. But you are right, the entire system is flawed.”

Sansa nodded, “It’s not just the legal system, Mr. Martell... truly, I don’t consider myself a feminist, but there continue to be double-standards in our society. Little girls are taught to be polite and pretty, while their brothers are taught to be strong and independent. When I was little my parents put me in dance classes, which I _hated_ , by the way – mainly because of the other girls; meanwhile my little sister wanted to join the wrestling team, but it was not permitted. Of course, she was always a scrappy little thing, so she found her own ways to pursue her interests, but I always wanted to be the perfect little daughter – obedient, courteous, pretty… I only wish someone had taught me that not all people would deserve my courtesy or my obedience.”

Ellaria smiled at her, “I fear your parents are the norm, Sansa. Oberyn and I decided to raise our girls in a less traditional manner. We raised them to be _fierce_. The man who tries to take liberties with any of them will end up missing a few fingers… or other parts,” the woman winked.

Sansa smirked, “Then I feel I’m in safe company to tell you my secret plan for criminal justice reform: castration for sexual predators.”

Oberyn and Ellaria laughed genuinely, and even Jaime was amused, though he made a mental note to never piss off his wife.

Oberyn sighed and sat back, “Well Jaime, I like doing business with men who share not just my ideals but also my tastes. You have a lovely home and a lovely wife…”

Ellaria smiled and nodded her agreement as Oberyn continued, “… so I know we share impeccable taste. But I’d like to get to know more about you – your ideals as a man _and_ a businessman… Come to Sunspear, spend a weekend with us, let us return your hospitality.”

Jaime was flabbergasted. He was under the impression that Oberyn didn’t hand out invitations to his private paradise to just anyone, “Oberyn, that is most generous, but we couldn’t impose on you for an entire weekend.”

“Of course you can! And it wouldn’t be an imposition. Ellaria and I love entertaining there!”

Ellaria nodded passionately, addressing Sansa and grasping her hand across the table, “You’ll love it there. Warm water, white sand, beautiful foliage. Consider it a mini vacation.”

“I… well… Jaime is so busy, he works every weekend…” Sansa turned to him, clearly not certain whether she should accept the invitation.

Oberyn waved a hand, “I work most weekends, too. Bring your laptop. We’ll work for a few hours each morning, then spend the rest of the day enjoying the company of our beautiful ladies.”

Something about the man’s request made Jaime cautious, but he would not risk insulting him, “Well, if you insist it won’t be an imposition…”

“We insist!” Ellaria stated happily. She turned again to Sansa, “Pack light, you’ll be spending every minute in the water… or the bedroom…” she winked at Jaime.

Once the lively couple had left, Sansa and Jaime walked back to the kitchen and cleared the table in silence, both deep in thought. Eventually Jaime summoned the words to capture the conclusion he’d come to. He looked to Sansa, who returned his gaze. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked her, hoping she wasn’t… hoping he was just being crazy.

But she nodded slowly, and they voiced their thoughts in unison, “Oberyn wants to fuck you.”

Jaime was taken aback… “Me?! No, he wants to fuck _you._ ”

“No! He wants to fuck you!” Sansa insisted.

“Who wants to fuck Jaime – the Oberyn guy?” Sandor emerged from the downstairs den where he’d essentially been hiding out during the dinner. He looked completely unfazed by the conversation taking place as he casually popped a few peanuts into his mouth.

“Yes, big time,” Sansa answered.

Jaime scrunched his face, “No! He wants to fuck _Sansa_.”

That got a reaction out of Sandor, his face transforming from ambivalence to anger in a heartbeat, “Well he _can’t_ fuck Sansa! Don’t let him Jaime.”

“Let him?” Sansa exclaimed, “As if I would fuck him because Jaime _“lets him”_?!” she held up air quotes.

Jaime huffed, “As if I would let another man fuck my wife?!” at the irony of his statement Jaime felt his cheeks heat, “I mean… ah fuck it, I need a drink.” He poured himself a scotch.

Sansa ran her hands through her hair, “Look it doesn’t matter – he doesn’t want to fuck me, he wants to fuck Jaime… if anyone wants to fuck me it’s Ellaria.”

Sandor’s eyes lit up, anger momentarily squelched, “Really?!”

Jaime rolled his eyes – a side effect of being mostly gay – he was immune to the typical guy obsession with seeing two women together.

“Look,” Sansa stated firmly, ignoring Sandor’s excitement and Jaime’s scowl, “We go there for two days, we have fun, and if they ask us to do something we’re not comfortable with, we just politely refuse without insulting their… _preferences_ …” Sansa’s face suddenly shifted into an expression Jaime had never seen on her before, and couldn’t readily label, “…unless you’d want to… be with Oberyn, I mean.”

Sandor’s eyes widened again. No doubt the man was finding this infinitely more entertaining whatever he’d been watching on TV.

Jaime was aghast, “What? No! That’s a terrible idea. That would be career suicide if anyone ever found out.”

Sansa shrugged, “Yes, but I think he can keep a secret. He wouldn’t want anyone finding out, either. They have kids to worry about…”

Jaime rubbed his eyes, hoping he was imagining this entire conversation, but Sansa continued on, frustration in her voice, “Look – forget about Oberyn. I mean, what’s the deal, Jaime? The day we met you presented me an agreement that gave you the right to have _partners_ , plural. But I’ve only ever seen you with Nate. Are you afraid that I’d… I mean am I stopping you from… or making you feel like…”

Sandor groaned, “She wants to know if she’s cock blocking you.”

Jaime spit out his initial reaction, “What? No!” … but then thought on it. It was true that Sansa wasn’t _doing_ anything to make him feel that he couldn’t be with another person, but the past few months had been so perfect – their odd little family. In truth, the idea of being with anyone but Nate or Sansa did feel like being unfaithful, just as he would consider it unfaithful to him if she were with anyone but him or Sandor. He often thought in pictures, and the image that came to mind was a rudimentary drawing of four stick figures representing himself, Sansa, Nate, and Sandor. There was a line between he and Sansa and one between he and Nate. There was also a line between Sansa and Sandor. There was a line between he and Sandor, but it curved through Sansa. _Should there be a similar line between Nate and Sansa that curves through me?_ He wasn’t sure but didn’t think it much mattered. Despite heterosexual dalliances in high school and college, Nate was squarely in the homosexual camp. And for Sansa’s part she was crazy about Nate but seemed to think of him like a girlfriend. Someone she shopped with, complained to about the many shortcomings of men, and shared pints of Ben & Jerry’s with.

Sansa was still looking at Jaime, expectantly, and he found in that moment he wasn’t afraid to speak the truth, wasn’t afraid to admit she was all he needed in a woman, and Nate was all he needed in a man. He began trying to explain his thoughts, but the words were a jumble, so he did what he does best – he retrieved a pad of paper and four different colored pens from the junk drawer and drew the diagram he’d just envisioned, refusing to look at either Sansa or Sandor for fear he’d lose his nerve. After the diagram was done, he drew a circle around the entire thing and pointed inside the circle with his index finger, saying the words he was afraid to voice, “I know it’s not what we agreed to initially, but I don’t want anyone else in this circle, I like it just the way it is.”

Sansa’s face went from awe to happiness before tears built in her eyes, “My Jaime,” she gushed, wrapping her arms around his neck. She held him tight in the kind of hug one gives a friend or family member they haven’t seen in years, before extending her left arm toward Sandor. He begrudgingly let her pull him into her embrace, mumbling under his breath about women and nances… though Jaime knew there was no scorn behind his words.

Sandor eventually pulled away, “Look – I’m fine with this,” he pointed at the diagram, “but if you’re going to bring anyone else in, can it please be a woman? It’s a fucking sausage fest around here.”

Jaime chuckled but Sansa chewed her lip, “But I like being the only woman…”

Sandor rolled his eyes while Jaime laughed even harder, “You really are a jealous little thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes and I freely admit it… but only with you guys. Well, mainly with…” she pointed at Sandor sheepishly.

“Ouch,” Jaime stated, while Sandor did a poor job of hiding his pride.

Sansa forced a look of shame into her countenance, “Alright look, I won’t say _never_ but if we ever do that the other woman cannot be hotter than me.”

Sandor laughed while Jaime pulled her in for a kiss on the temple, “I for one love that you’re a fierce and covetous little thing, and unapologetic about it.”

Sandor snorted, “Ugh, dude, you just described your sister.”

Jaime winced, “Okay, I hope this is a judgment free zone.”

Sansa looked at him with eyebrows raised, “Not even close…”


	29. The Great Pumpkin Competition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More banter, because I live for it, and if you've stuck with this story up to this point you probably do, too.
> 
> P.S. if you read chapter 28 within a few minutes of my posting it you may want to go back and re-read the very end of the chapter - the last 5 paragraphs... nothing major plot-wise, but I accidentally omitted them when I originally posted then corrected within ~30 minutes.

“Gentlemen, you are here because you are some of the world’s most elite pumpkin carvers,” Sansa used a flourished showman-style voice to address Sandor, Jaime, and Nate who stood around the dining room table – after Sansa had laid down a cheap vinyl tablecloth, for Jaime’s sanity – each with their own pumpkin and carving kit set before them.

“The theme is _faces_ … traditional jack-o-lantern face, face of an iconic movie villain, or if you’re feeling ambitious you can even attempt a realistic portrait. As long as there are eyes and a mouth, it’s permissible. We will be our own judges, grading each other on execution, creativity, festiveness, and fright, ranking on a scale of 1 to 3 with—”

Nate rolled his eyes, “You are taking this way too seriously.”

“You should see her playing Trivial Pursuit,” Sandor mumbled.

Jaime chuckled, “Yeah, or Monopoly… I think she’s even more cutthroat than my father.”

Sandor nodded, “Mmhmm, even offers to give out loans to other players at exorbitant interest rates, because apparently letting her opponents declare bankruptcy is too merciful.”

“Oh hush, tonight is about fun fall activities,” Sansa lightly scolded.

…

Two hours and several mugs of spiked cider later, everyone was ready for their big reveal. Nate went first, and his artistic skills were quite apparent. He had carved one of the tall pumpkins to have a wide mouth filled with razor sharp teeth and upward facing eyes. It looked like the anti-hero _Venom_ and was quite frightening.

Sandor rolled his eyes, “No fair, you know Sansa has lady-wood for Tom Hardy.”

Nate sported a shameless expression, “I play to win.”

Next Sandor showed everyone his pumpkin, which was simple yet original. A wide grin was made of flames, as were each of the sinister-looking eyes. It would look great with a candle inside, as if the face was actually made of fire.

Jaime revealed his creation next, a surprisingly accurate portrayal of Jack Skellington, oversized oblong eyes, tiny nostrils, and wide, stitched mouth. Sansa had to suppress a squeal while Sandor and Nate remarked on Jaime’s pumpkin.

“My turn!” she finally exclaimed, before turning her pumpkin around to reveal it was Sally – Jack Skellington’s ragdoll girlfriend. Sansa had carved large almond-shaped eyes with long eyelashes and a tiny bow-shaped mouth with stitch lines extending on either side.

Seeing they had unknowingly made matching jack-o-lanterns Jaime threw up his arms in delight, Sansa jumping on him in excitement, “Okay hubby, we already have our Top Gun costumes for this Halloween, but next year we’re totally dressing up as Jack and Sally.”

Jaime clearly shared her excitement, “You won’t even have to wear a wig!”

Sansa nodded, “Ooh, and Sandor can be Oogie Boogie since he’s so tall…”

“No fucking way!” Sandor groaned, but Sansa was clearly ignoring him.

“…and we’ll have to get a dog before then to be Zero!”

“Umm, wife, it strikes me as _slightly_ irresponsible to get a living animal just so you can dress it up for Halloween…”

“O---M---G!!!” Sansa once again ignored the protests she was receiving, “Then the year after that all four of us can dress up as the characters from Wizard of Oz. Nate can be the Scarecrow, I’ll be Dorothy of course, Sandor can be Tin Man, and Jaime you can be the Cowardly Lion. And the dog will be Toto!!”

“I’m not fucking dressing up!” Sandor repeated in vain.

“What other famous foursomes are there?” Sansa asked the group.

Nate grabbed her hands, eyes wide, “Ghostbusters!!”

“Yes!” Sansa shouted, “How about Fantastic Four!!”

Nate nodded vigorously, “Three Men and a Baby!”

“Oh, how funny would it be if we made Sandor the baby, like in an ironic way.”

“I’m not dressing up as a fucking baby!”

Sansa waved at him dismissively, “Fine, I’ll be the baby, you can be Tom Selleck, but you have to shave your beard and grow out your ‘stache.”

“No! Who the fuck are you, woman?!” Sandor looked confused and terrified.

“What?” she asked, munching on roasted pumpkin seeds, “I like Halloween.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “So who won the competition, anyway?”

“Oh right!” Sansa handed out pencils and paper. After each person graded the three others, Sansa tallied up the scores. She shook her head, “Oh no, this won’t work – Nate and Sandor are tied at 10 apiece, Jaime and I are tied at 9 apiece.”

“I’m fine with a tie,” Sandor offered diplomatically.

“Well I’m not!” Nate rose, “We need a tiebreaker.”

“What are we playing for, anyway?” Sandor inquired.

“Hmm… hadn’t thought about that,” Sansa paced a bit before her eyes lit up, “Winner gets to pick the losers’ Halloween costumes next year – and they have to wear them!”

“No, uh-uh” Sandor shook his head, “I’m not fucking dressing up for Halloween. I frighten enough children with my normal face.”

Sansa frowned and gave him a kiss on his burned cheek.

“Mmm… pity kisses,” he rasped, “did I ever mention that Daddy didn’t love me?”

Sansa slapped him playfully but felt a pang in her tummy wondering if it was true. Her sorrow didn’t last long though, “Oh my Gods… guys, I’ve got it… the classic monsters. Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein, the Mummy, Wolfman, and Dracula. Oh no we need another person…”

Jaime nodded, “Cersei would make a _really_ good Bride of Frankenstein, then Sansa you can be the Mummy.”

“Hells no,” Sandor insisted, “Because I know you’re going to make me be Frankenstein, and I’ll have nightmares for life thinking of your sister as my bride.”

Sansa laughed, “Do you think Bronn would be up for it? He’d make a good Wolfman.”

“That fucker’s up for anything,” Sandor shook his head in mock disapproval.

“Alright, so what will the tiebreaker be?” Nate finally got them back on track. Sandor suggested an apple whiskey drink-off, while Nate suggested a mini pumpkin painting competition.

Sandor protested the latter, “You’re a professional painter, that’s not fair.”

“And you’re a professional drinker,” Nate shot back.

Sandor forced a scowl, “Touché.”

“Oh! I’ve got it, we just need another judge. Let’s video chat Bronn and ask him to pick one.”

Everyone agreed it was the most fair option, and Bronn wouldn’t be told which pumpkin belonged to which man so they could be guaranteed of no bias.

“Hmm…” Bronn pursed his lips, clearly taking his role quite seriously, “Well the flaming one is going to look awesome when lit, and probably really striking even from a distance, but man the detail on all those needle-sharp teeth, and its downright frightening. That one wins execution and fright factor, the other wins creativity and festiveness… so this is tough… I think I’m gong to have to lean toward the _Venom_ one though.”

Nate literally jumped for joy, fist in the air, while Sandor dropped his head in surrender. He addressed Bronn, “Hope you know they’re going to dress you up as the Wolfman next Halloween.”

“I’m down,” Bronn shrugged.


	30. Trick-r-Treat

“Damn, don’t get rid of that costume,” Sandor teased.

“Or the wig,” Jaime added.

Sansa rolled her eyes at their reflections in her dresser mirror as she finished filling in her brows and completed the look with red lipstick. She was dressed as Charlie from Top Gun, and chose to wear high waist, fitted ‘mom jeans’, a tight white t-shirt, and a black leather bomber jacket. A curly blond shoulder-length wig and pair of aviator sunglasses completed the look.

Jaime was already decked out as Maverick with a dark green flight suit, black boots, and aviator sunglasses. He’d even been a good enough sport to let Sansa dye his hair dark black, though only after she promised to spend the entire weekend helping him shampoo it out if the dye proved to be less ‘temporary’ than it portended to be.

It was 5:45 on Halloween Friday, and the trick-r-treaters would be ringing the doorbell soon. Sansa bounded down the steps and into the kitchen where she dumped bags of Snickers, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Blow Pops, and Dum-Dums into a giant orange bowl. Jaime and she would only have an hour and a half to hand out candy before they’d have to leave for a party hosted by one of Jaime’s “friends”. Jaime described the guy as being a real tool, but one that was very outspoken in the local community. The company he owned was also a contractor for Casterly, so Jaime had to stay on friendly terms with the guy, he explained while apologizing in advance for the awkward evening that would ensue.

Shortly after six, Sansa was surprised to see Bronn at their door with a boy he introduced as “TJ”. After inviting them inside, she left Jaime to man the candy bowl while she went to find Sandor in the den. He shared her surprise when his eyes landed on TJ.

“Isn’t there a law against people like you procreating?” Sandor growled.

“Don’t worry – no _little Bronn’s_ out there – at least none that I know of,” Bronn winked at Sansa who rolled here eyes. “This is TJ, he’s my little bro.”

Sansa was impressed, “Wow, that’s great. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you the one to thank for keeping Bronn out of trouble?”

The kid grinned and nodded proudly, then shook Sansa’s hand, “Your house is awesome!” he exclaimed, “Bronn _told_ me you’d be giving out good candy ‘cause your husband’s rich!”

Bronn winced while Sansa chuckled good-naturedly, “Oh did he?”

“Kid’s got an active imagination,” Bronn offered as he placed a heavy hand on TJ’s shoulder.

“Whatever, dude,” TJ responded, “Didn’t you teach me not to say anything behind someone’s back that I wouldn’t say to their face?”

“Ah, you remembered that, did ya?”

Up to this point Sandor had been merely a spectator. Bronn turned toward him, “TJ, remember I told you about my friend Sandor?”

“Yeah, the big one with the scars.”

Bronn smacked his own forehead, “Right; we’ll need to work on finding the right balance of this _honesty_ thing… Anyway, this is Sandor.”

TJ shook his hand confidently, seemingly unintimidated by Sandor’s height or scars.

“What’s TJ short for?” Sandor asked.

The boy blushed, “Timothy James, but the kids called me Tiny Tim, so when I started at my new school I went by TJ.”

“Smart,” Sandor nodded, “Don’t worry, you’ll be tall someday. You got long legs. How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

“Mmm, got the worst years ahead of you, I’m not going to lie, but then it’ll get better. Best remember that.”

“Yes, sir,” TJ nodded.

“Wow, what good manners,” Sansa praised him, “See, I’m trying to teach my husband that kids should only get candy when they say “Trick-r-Treat”, or at least, “please”. But he’s a bit of a push-over and gives candy to everyone, no matter how impolite they are. Would you like to go help him hand out candy for a bit, show him how to do it right?”

TJ’s eyes lit up, “Hell yeah. I mean, yes, ma’am!” TJ bounded toward the door without another word.

“Thanks, Red. He looks excited.” Bronn said.

“Oh no problem. I remember the first year I handed out candy instead of trick-r-treating. I felt so grown-up. Until my younger brothers and sister came back with pillowcases full of candy. That was probably my first lesson in how un-fun being an adult can be.”

Bronn smiled his toothy grin, “I wouldn’t know.”

Sansa swatted him, “So how long have you been doing this?”

“With TJ only a few months, my last kid aged out of the program, though I still text and call him once or twice a month. TJ’s my fourth lil bro.”

“Really?” Sandor asked, incredulous.

“Yep. Thought I owed it to society to help other kids end up better than me. I was a hellion as TJ’s age, and he was on the same path. Starting fights at school, failing three of his classes…”

Sandor shook his head, “What about his parents?”

“It’s just him and his mom and his little sister. It’s the typical story, mom working two jobs. When she is home her little girl gets more attention, obviously, since she’s younger and less independent. The mom’s better than most though – no drinking or drug problems that I can tell. Not a saint, but really she’s just too busy to give TJ the time he needs. Within an hour of knowing the kid I could tell he was good, just acting out to try to get attention.”

Sansa tsked her tongue, “Uh, that is such a shame. But I’m glad he has you!” she rubbed Bronn’s shoulder appreciatively.

Bronn nodded at Sandor, “See this man?” he pointed at Sansa’s hand still resting on his shoulder, “That’s the other nice thing about it; telling a broad you’re a big bro will get their panties dropping in no time. That or get a cute dog.”

Sansa withdrew her hand in exaggerated repulsion, “Okay, on that note… I’m going to check on Jaime and TJ.”

…

“There he is!!” a stocky, yellow-haired man spotted Jaime and Sansa the moment they stepped into the large foyer.

“Hey, Preston,” Jaime feigned happiness at seeing the man walking toward him and Sansa.

“Hey, Jaime. Long time! How’s your dad?”

“Same old lion,” Jaime smiled awkwardly. Preston seemed oblivious.

“Whoa, who’s this?” Preston reached for Sansa’s hand and pressed an old-fashioned kiss to her knuckles while Jaime introduced her.

“Wow, _please_ do not let Jen see her! She’s going through kind of a thing. I thought mid-life crises were only for men, am I right?” he clapped Jaime on the back roughly, “I tune her out most of the time but if she catches me checking out another woman... _forget it!_ I am in the DOGHOUSE.”

Jaime forced a chuckle, “You know there might be a simple solution for that problem.”

It took a moment for Preston to realize Jaime’s meaning, and when he did, he clapped him on the back again, “ _Yeah, right!_ Come on let’s get a beer, Jaime. Come on Sasha, the girls are back here.”

Sansa could barely decide what to be most insulted by but was able to find humor in the expression Jaime sent her way as Preston dragged him through the house. It was a lovely home, very spacious and modern, and Sansa shook her head wondering how dumbasses like Preston Greenfield got rich while hard-working people like TJ’s mom could barely scrape by. Without even knowing the woman Sansa was certain she had more class than Preston.

It seemed gender segregation was encouraged at the Greenfields’ parties. The women were congregated in the large, eat-in kitchen while the men were on the back patio. Whenever the door opened a waft of cigar smoke came in and Sansa pitied poor Jaime for whatever he was enduring.

“Ugh,” a woman who introduced herself as Kristin was complaining aloud, “Jen – next year can we have the party minus the costumes? You know how hard it is finding a costume for that fat fuck?” she hooked her thumb toward the patio and Sansa was shocked to hear someone address her husband that way.

Jen – the hostess of the party – shook her head, “You know the rules.”

“Fine, just know that Mike is going to be Barney Rubble until the end of time.”

Sansa shrugged, “Oh I think you’re looking at the glass half-empty, Kristin. Let’s see, there’s the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, Humpty-Dumpty, Alfred Hitchcock… You could be Laurel and he could be Hardy. You could be Abbot and he could be Costello… really the possibilities are endless.”

Kristin and the other wives laughed, one of them shouting out _“Fast Bastard from Austin Powers”_ as another said _“Cartman from South Park!”_

“So you’re Jaime Lannister’s wife?” a perky brunette asked. She was wearing a cute pirate costume.

“Yes, also known as Sansa. And you are?” Sansa reached across the kitchen island to shake her hand.

“I’m also a Jen, but you can call me Jennifer if it makes it easier to keep us straight. ‘Cause there are three of us,” she nodded toward an overweight blond woman dressed as Miss Piggy. Sansa inwardly commended her moxie.

Kristin got back into the conversation, “We’ve all been wondering how long Jaime would stay on the market.”

Jen Greenfield rolled her eyes, “Yeah, some of us were hoping to trade-in for him.”

Sansa smiled, “Well, sorry, I drove that car off the lot after only one test drive!” she meant it as a casual joke but realized it sounded sexual when the other women oohed and aahhed.

“That good, huh?” Kristin asked.

Sansa felt her cheeks blush, “Oh, I’d rather not kiss and tell…”

Kristin pouted, “Well, I guess I’ll just be left to my own imagination.”

“God,” Jen mumbled into her glass of red wine, “ _there’s_ a scary thought…”

Sansa was having a better than expected time but after more than an hour she wondered if she should attempt to rescue Jaime. On the pretext of going out for a cigarette she walked out to the patio. Most of the men paid her no mind but Preston turned immediately and set his sights on her, “Hey! No girls allowed out here.”

“No worries, I’m a woman.”

What was meant to sound self-confident must have sounded like flirtation for Preston approached her with a raised eyebrow, “I bet you are…” His unfocused eyes roved her body.

“Umm… is Jaime out here?”

“He’s down at the garage, come on,” Preston extended his elbow and Sansa took it, only to avoid seeming rude. The detached garage, which looked like a clubhouse, came into sight as they rounded the back corner of the house, but Preston stopped walking.

“You’re a bit young for Lannister, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yes I’m several years younger than Jaime. Nothing scandalous, I should think.”

“I always thought he was a fag,” Preston said bluntly.

“Um, excuse me?” Sansa said indignantly.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I see he’s not, now. Not that I care. Where a man sticks his dick is his business, as long as it isn’t anywhere near me or my wife.”

“Wow,” was all Sansa could say. She wanted to give him an earful, but he was clearly drunk. She could smell rum and beer on his breath, and he swayed while standing still. Instead she began to walk toward the garage but was yanked back as Preston squeezed her hand between his arm and body.

A warm panic spread from her scalp to her toes, “Preston, I’m going to find my husband. Maybe you should go inside and see if your _wife_ needs any help.”

He was just staring at her, not releasing her hand but not moving closer. Her heart was racing. Was he just drunk and confused? Had she said something offensive? No… she was sure she had not.

After what felt like an eternity, he moved so quickly she didn’t see it coming, but his lips were crushed to hers and he pushed her against the exterior wall of the house. She tried shoving him, but though he was shorter than her he was built like a bulldog and she could not even budge him.

Wracking her brain she remembered Arya’s lessons from years ago and stomped her foot hard down on his instep.

“Fuck!” he bowed over and grasped at his foot, “You fucking bitch!” he swore at her before losing his balance and tumbling down his slightly sloped lawn.

“Oh fuck,” Sansa gasped.

She walked as fast as she could toward the garage and found Jaime.

“Hey,” he greeted her warmly before seeing something in her eyes that made his drop.

“Jaime, can we go please?” she asked, knowing how shaky her voice sounded.

Two minutes later they were in his Audi and Sansa couldn’t stop trembling. She didn’t want to make a big deal of this – Preston was very drunk, after all, and apparently it was important that Jaime maintain an amicable relationship with the guy. Nothing truly terrible had happened but she felt shaken, nonetheless.

Jaime was pulling out of the long driveway when next he spoke, “San, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just really didn’t want to be there anymore,” she couldn’t meet his eyes, knowing he’d see fear in them and force her to tell him the reason.

 _But shouldn’t I tell him? Shouldn’t he know what kind of man Preston is? Drunk or not, Sandor, Jaime, and Bronn would_ never _try to force themselves on a woman, of that I’m sure…_

“Look,” she started, trying to force calmness into her tone, “I don’t want you to get upset, but when I was looking for you out back Preston was walking me to the garage and…”

“And what?”

“It’s not a big deal, but he wouldn’t let my arm go and then he pressed me against the wall and kissed me.”

Jaime slammed on the brakes so hard Sansa’s seatbelt locked.

“What?!” he screeched.

“It was only a second! He was really drunk and he may have thought I was flirting with him, or—”

“Were you?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Then it doesn’t matter what the fuck he thought or how drunk he was.”

“I know, I know…” Sansa was now trying to calm Jaime instead of herself, “I know you have to work with him, I don’t want to make it weird, I just thought you should know.”

Jaime turned to face the windshield again, “Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered as he did a hurried U-turn in the middle of the road.

_Oh fuck!_

“Jaime – what are you doing?”

“I can deal with this guy being a blowhard and general dick, but now he touches my _wife?_ He kisses my _wife?”_ He seemed to be talking to himself and not Sansa. As he pulled into the Greenfields’ driveway she knew he was too enraged for anything she said to penetrate.

“Wait here,” he uttered before clambering out of the car and slamming the door.

“Oh fuck!” Sansa screamed in the car, unsure what to do. Jaime was running for office; he couldn’t be videotaped beating some guy’s head in at a Halloween party. Or worse yet, what if the cops were called and he was arrested? Should she call Sandor? Or Jaime’s dad? _Fuck!_

Sansa jumped out of the passenger side and ran to catch up with Jaime’s long and furious strides, “Jaime, please stop and think about this. You have a reputation to maintain!”

“Indeed,” he answered with a strange calm.

“Jaime, please!! Count to ten or something!”

She was pulling his arm now, but he didn’t stop marching around the outside of the house. As they approached the patio Preston came into view, a beer in his hand. Upon seeing Jaime and Sansa his eyes went wide in surprise then confusion.

It happened so fast – Jaime smacked the beer can out of his hand, sending foam spraying into the air, then punched him in the cheek. Preston dropped, but Jaime didn’t stop hitting him. After being momentarily frozen with her hands to her cheeks Sansa realized Jaime had lost control. He was pummeling the man.

“Jaime, stop, _please_!” Sansa cried, but he didn’t even react to her.

After breaking from their own stupors two other men pulled Jaime off of a bloodied Preston. By now the wives had poured out into the patio, mouths agape.

Jaime was struggling against the two men, but they held firm until Jaime threw up his hands and said, “I’m done!”

He pointed at Preston who looked absolutely dumbstruck as he tried to sit up, “If you ever put your God damned hands on my wife, I’ll fucking ruin you… if I don’t kill you first.”

Jaime walked toward Sansa with surprising calm. With a hand on her waist her turned her, then led her back around the house. Sansa could hear Jen Greenfield berating her husband, _“You cocksucker, Preston, I thought you were done with this shit!”_

_Looks like the Greenfields won’t be pressing charges against Jaime. Maybe he’ll even get a ‘thank you’ card from Jen._

The ride home was silent and tense. Sansa wondered if Jaime was partly mad at her… did he think she had done something to invite Preston’s attention?

_You shouldn’t have taken his elbow. You shouldn’t have made that comment about being a woman, not a girl!_

Sansa silently scolded herself the entire ten-minute ride home. Not a word was spoken but Jaime’s mind was clearly at work. They parked in their garage and walked into the house, hearing the den TV in the distance. Sandor emerged up the steps, looking wary until he saw it was Jaime and Sansa.

“Hey, I thought you guys would be out late. Lame party?”

Jaime snorted but didn’t answer as he poured himself two fingers of scotch.

Sansa yanked off her wig. She couldn’t stand the tension another moment. Jaime was probably hating her right now, thinking that he had to disgrace himself to defend her honor. It wasn’t like Sandor who seemed to always be looking for a provocation; Jaime wasn’t a fighter – he was probably feeling shitty for having stooped to Preston’s level.

“I need a cigarette,” Sansa said, but Jaime caught her wrist as she headed toward the back door.

“San,” he looked at her remorsefully, “I’m _sorry_.”

She shook her head, “No, _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have told you about it; I shouldn’t have even left myself alone with the creep.”

“Who?!” Sandor demanded, “What the fuck happened?” as he stepped into the kitchen his eyes widened as he took in the sight of Jaime’s bloodied knuckles.

Jaime ignored Sandor’s question and his glare, instead grabbing Sansa’s chin, “Don’t you fucking dare, Sansa. You did _nothing_ wrong. And you were right to tell me.”

Tears pricked her eyes as the emotions of the evening caught up with her – fear for herself, then fear for Jaime, then fear of Jaime’s uncharacteristic anger.

Nothing escaped his notice and he wrapped his arms around her neck, pulling her into his chest.

“Will someone tell me what the fuck happened?” Sandor insisted.

Sansa felt Jaime’s neck twist to look at him. In a quiet voice Jaime explained everything. There was neither conceit nor shame in his tone when he described landing blow after blow on Preston’s ugly face.

After some silence Sansa dared to look up. Sandor looked angry but also – _proud?_

“Wow, didn’t think you had it in you, Lannister.”

Jaime snorted, “I’m not just a pretty face.”

The conversation moved to the veranda so Sandor and Sansa could split a cigarette while Jaime took Sandor’s advice and put an ice pack on his right hand.

Sansa exhaled a cloud of smoke, “I still feel bad, Jaime. You shouldn’t have done that for me… you shouldn’t have _had_ to do that for me,” she stared down at her shoes.

“Fuck. That.” Sandor said with certainty. “I don’t care if you flashed Preston your tits... A man doesn’t kiss another man’s wife. And he doesn’t kiss a woman against her will. PERIOD.”

She knew better to argue.

Sandor turned to Jaime, “So how did it feel? Pummeling that bastard.”

Jaime chuckled, “Been wanting to do it for years. Just happy to have a valid excuse.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Well, glad to hear something good came out of my night of terror.”

“Hey, Halloween’s supposed to be scary, isn’t it?” Jaime smirked.

“Oh it was scary alright! All I could picture was your dad and sister chewing me a new asshole because I _“let you”_ beat the shit out of one of your contractors.”

Sandor faked a shiver, “Damn, I’ll take my chances against Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger over _that_ pair.”

Sansa laughed at that and before she knew it, she was cackling. Nervous energy poured out of her in the form of belly laughs.

“What is so funny, wife?”

“I almost forgot. While I was in the car trying to decide what to do, I thought about calling Sandor. But then I realized instead of coming over to talk sense into you he would just finish off what was left of Preston. Then I’d be bailing you _both_ out of jail.”

Jaime shook his head, “Let me guess, you imagined us sharing one of those cliché barred cells in the county jail?”

She nodded through fits of giggles, “I almost wish it really happened. I have so many good prison sex jokes to use!”


	31. Weekend at Sunspear I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caution: Slippery when wet.

“O-M-G. Jaime, this place is amazing!” Sansa spun around the small but decadently furnished guest house they were given upon arriving at Sunspear early Friday evening, “It’s official, I want my own island.”

“Wow… you buy store brand toilet paper, but you want your own island? You really are a paradox.”

“I know, best not try to figure me out, hubby,” she patted his chest as she walked through the kitchen to inspect the bedroom.

He heard her calling out various aspects of the room. King size bed, satin sheets, his and hers silk robes, a huge window facing the beach, and apparently very expensive toiletries. He was half-listening when suddenly a loud yelp drew his attention. He rushed into the bedroom to find Sansa wide-eyed and beet red, with one hand covering her mouth and the other resting on the knob of an opened dresser drawer.

He walked over carefully, “What, is there a spider in there?”

She didn’t answer and he peered into the drawer from a safe distance, only to burst out in laughter as he saw its contents, “Well, Oberyn and Ellaria certainly live up to their reputations…” Inside the drawer were a neatly-organized variety of adult toys. Jaime couldn’t tell whether he was more amused by the odd _generosity_ of their hosts or his wife’s scandalized reaction. He grinned at Sansa, whose face matched her hair at the moment, “What’s wrong, wife? You know they say what happens in Sunspear stays in Sunspear, right?” he pinched her side to elicit another yelp, earning himself a healthy smack on the shoulder. Jaime was now practically doubled over in a fit of the giggles.

Jaime knew his own cheeks were now red from his unbridled laughter. He looked up to Sansa who had her arms crossed impertinently, “I’m sorry, San, it’s just… if I knew all it took to make you speechless was a drawer full of sex toys, I would’ve gone on a shopping spree months ago.”

She rolled her eyes, but her continued silence only strengthened his point. Behind his amusement, he was actually quite surprised that his free-spirited, sexually liberated wife seemed so prudish when it came to sex toys. As a gay man, they were practically a necessity.

Rifling through the drawer he pulled out an item at random. It was a purple strap-on dildo. He held it up by the string, “What’s wrong, don’t even lie and tell me you’ve never wanted to use one of these… I know you like to wear the pants...”

Sansa’s eyes widened. She snatched the offending object and tossed it back into the drawer, making Jaime laugh again, “Don’t worry, San, Nate won’t get jealous.”

If her eyes were wide before, they were now bugging out of her head, but Jaime was clueless as to what was so shocking to her. “What?” he asked, suddenly worried about the answer he might receive.

“You… and Nate… _you’re_ the… the… the…”

_“Bottom?”_

She winced and Jaime felt oddly perturbed by her reaction, “Does that bother you?”

“No!” she was quick to answer, “It’s just… not what I expected. I mean, you won the manliness competition, remember? You’re the one who’s only 85% gay while Nate is at least 98% gay…”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “It has nothing to do with how _gay_ we each are, and more to do with physical preferences. I’ve done it both ways, but generally with Nate I’m on the receiving end.”

“But, then why do you enjoy it when you and I…?”

“Because that’s totally different. It’s hard to explain. And with Nate and I, it’s less about who wants to be top and more a matter of that I’m more comfortable being bottom than he is.”

She eyed him suspiciously, “So you both like to pitch, but only you like to catch?”

He raised his brow ,“Well, your vocabulary could use some updating, but yeah, you’ve got the idea.”

Jaime thought this might be as good a time as ever to ask something that had been on his mind since the night he’d watched Sansa and Sandor make love on the veranda. If Sansa was angry at his asking, he’d have all weekend to make up for it.

“So, San… while we’re on the subject. And if you’re not comfortable talking about this, just say so, but… have you ever had…?”

“A threesome?”

He chuckled, “Well, I wasn’t going to ask that, though now I’m wondering about that as well…”

“No, I haven’t. But, well, I’d be open to it, I think…” she answered sheepishly.

Jaime tried to contain his satisfaction, settling instead for a nod then getting back to his original point, “I was going to ask if you’ve ever…” the words wouldn’t come out, so he found a butt plug from the drawer and dangled it with a quizzical look on his face.

The bright red blush was back, “Had _anal?_ Is that what you’re asking me?!”

Now Jaime nodded sheepishly.

She sighed, “Only once, in college.”

“And did you… _like_ it?”

“I dunno, I was pretty drunk, and I don’t think the guy knew what he was doing. I mean, he was _aware_ of what he was doing, but…”

“Ah, I know... He didn’t help you prepare, or help you adjust.”

“Yeah... Why are you asking me this?” the suspicion in her voice was plain.

“Just curious. We’re married, I want to know what you like and dislike in the bedroom. What you’re willing and unwilling to do…”

She shrugged, “I’m willing to _try_ just about anything… I mean, within reason, but if I don’t like it, I don’t want it to be weird for us...”

“Totally get it. That’s fine… It just strikes me that we’re together, on a secluded island, for the whole weekend, and with a collection of toys that would put some porn stars to shame…” when he looked into her eyes again her mortification from a few minutes ago had been replaced by something akin to mischief, and he’d be lying if he said his cock didn’t twitch in response.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she planted a Cherry Chapstick kiss on his lips, “I think I’m digging this kinky side of you, Lannister.”

“Mmm,” he returned her kiss, “And I’m digging this adventurous side of _you_ , Lannister.”

…

At the main house an hour later, Sansa and Ellaria sipped wine on the sofa with a clear view of the men cooking in the kitchen due to the open concept layout. Oberyn was preparing some type of seafood stew, moving about the kitchen with a graceful flourish that reminded Sansa of a matador. Jaime and he were chatting as Jaime chopped some fresh herbs.

Sansa couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene and Ellaria noticed, “What?” she asked with a smile on her full lips.

“Just musing that wherever I go there is a man cooking for me,” Sansa thought back to the night that Bronn invited her, Jaime, and Sandor over for dinner. Bronn, like Sandor, knew his way around a kitchen and had made them a stuffed pork roast that evening.

“Jaime cooks at home?” Ellaria looked genuinely surprised.

“No, not Jaime. Well, breakfast sometimes. Sandor, my driver and bodyguard actually loves to cook.”

“Wow, bodyguard _and_ chef? Impressive.”

“Mmhmm,” Sansa had to keep her smile as innocent as possible. Ellaria seemed to be a very perceptive woman, and Sansa felt like her piercing, coal-black eyes could read her thoughts.

“So how does _Mrs_. Lannister spend her days?”

“Oh,” Sansa blushed, but decided to answer honestly, “I’m pretty much a housecat. A housecat that drinks wine,” she raised her glass.

Ellaria smiled, “Nothing wrong with letting your husband spoil you. We have to put up with their male egos,” she rolled her eyes, and from the kitchen Oberyn shouted back _“heard that.”_

“Besides,” she continued, “we make it up to them in _other_ ways…” a raised brow and Ellaria’s eyes briefly skimming down Sansa’s body made it clear what she was hinting.

Sansa sipped her wine to busy her hands and mouth while she recovered from her shock. Eventually she could speak again, “Yes, well, I’d prefer _not_ to be a trophy wife. Besides, I’m not sure there is any contest that would award _me_ as a prize,” Sansa drank more wine and Ellaria was already refilling her cup before she could protest. She was pretty certain getting tanked around Oberyn and Ellaria was not a good idea, but she was equally certain that she’d need a proper buzz to survive the weekend.

It’s not that either was unpleasant company, but they were so open and forward that it made Sansa at times uncomfortable. Oberyn would smack Ellaria’s butt lightly when she walked by or make comments about how lucky a man he was. Ellaria was a radiant woman, to be sure. She was tall and very slender. She stood at least two inches taller than Sansa and probably ten pounds lighter. Her skin was a deep mocha that Sansa was insanely jealous of. Her hair and eyes were dark as night and shined in the dimly lit living room. Her aquiline nose gave her face a severe but sexy look. Next to her Sansa felt almost frumpy, which she knew was ridiculous. Sansa was happy with her figure, but Ellaria had this way of making even _sitting_ look sexy. She was willowy and feline, draped against the sofa.

“So, what do you want to do then?” Ellaria asked, pulling Sansa back into a conversation.

“Oh… um, I don’t know. _Something_ though. Some days I’d settle for a paper route if it would get me out of the house. Not that I’m not happy at home or with Jaime…”

“I know,” Ellaria smiled, “You get stir crazy. You’re a vibrant woman. Being cooped up all day not sharing your beauty and intellect with the world – well it’s like seeing a panther at a zoo.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far…” Sansa chuckled.

“So what did you do before you met Jaime?” Ellaria asked with such obvious curiosity that Sansa could tell she wasn’t simply making chit-chat. Perhaps the wine had loosened her lips, but Sansa recounted every detail about her career in pharmaceutical sales, making Ellaria giggle several times at stories of the doctors and nurses she encountered over the years. Most were nice and normal, of course, but there were a few that very much deserved to now be the butt of Sansa’s jokes.

Jaime and Oberyn had wandered over while the stew was simmering, just as Sansa told Ellaria how she once teased her hair, over-applied her makeup, and wore an out-of-style leather jacket when she heard that a certain doctor was a fan of the band Poison.

“Oh my! Did it work?” Ellaria asked, incredulous.

“Well, Xarelto is now the blood thinner of choice for a certain south Jersey cardiologist…” Sansa spoke with mock smugness.

“So could you sell ice to an Eskimo?” Oberyn asked playfully.

“Well not just any ice but give me a bag of those hollowed-out ice cubes that have more surface area so they cool your beverage more quickly, yeah I could probably sell them,” Sansa laughed.

“Alright, sell me something!” Ellaria demanded as she poured Sansa her fourth glass of wine.

“No, you can’t put me on the spot.”

“Hey, you never know when you’ll share an elevator with a renowned cardiologist. You must always be prepared for battle!”

“I’m not selling you on pharma – you won’t understand the terminology and it will fall flat.”

“Fine. Sell me…” Ellaria looked around the room, “this lamp!” she pointed to a mosaic glass Turkish table lamp.

“A _lamp?”_ Jaime frowned.

“Yes, a good saleswoman can sell anything. Take everything you know about Oberyn and me and convince us this is the lamp for us.”

“Oh I’ve _gotta_ see this…” Jaime leaned forward in his chair.

Sansa scrunched her face, “Oh God! I’m about to make a fool out of myself, aren’t I?” she looked to Oberyn.

“Either we’ll think you a fool or we’ll think you a sales wizard,” he replied honestly, “but if it’s the former, don’t worry, we won’t rib you about it… _much_.”

Sansa shook her head, resigning herself to her fate. Looking at her rapt audience an idea struck her…

Holding the lamp like a model on the _Price is Right_ would, she began, “Ladies and gentlemen, our next item up for auction is this one-of-a-kind, Turkish lamp, circa 1950s. This is a handmade, mosaic glass lamp, which means the owner of this lovely piece can rest assured that its exact likeness does not exist elsewhere, and never will…”

“This particular lamp has a unique starburst design in vivid shades of orange and red laid against a spectrum of tropical blues. If this doesn’t remind you of the sun setting over the Gulf of Mexico, then you’ve either never seen the sun or never seen the Gulf. Though perhaps _some_ men might look at this lamp and be reminded of the blue eyes and auburn hair of a certain lady,” Sansa winked at Jaime who winked back, “and how he’d like to spend the next sunset in her arms.”

“Not only will this lamp make a perfect accent piece for your favorite room, it will cast that room in myriad colors and shapes. But even a blind man could appreciate this work of art,” Sansa slid her fingertips down the lamp seductively, “because while rubbing this lamp won’t unleash a wish-granting genie, it will undoubtedly remind you of the graceful curves of a beautiful woman.”

Her “pitch” concluded, Jaime shot out of his seat, “I’ll take ten!”

Oberyn smiled at them then turned to Ellaria, “My dear, I think this lamp belongs in the bedroom.”

…

After a very pleasant meal Jaime and Sansa returned to their own little guest house. Both were a bit tipsy, but the rich fish stew served with crusty bread helped soak up some of the wine they’d over-indulged in before and during dinner.

Perhaps Ellaria was rubbing off on her, for Sansa was feeling rather bold. She didn’t drop Jaime’s hand until she had led them all the way through the living room, bedroom, and into the spacious bathroom. The bathroom, which was sand-colored tile from floor to ceiling, was larger than the kitchen. A good design choice, Sansa thought, since most guests wouldn’t come here to cook. The oversized shower with double showerheads was open to the rest of the bathroom.

After turning on the water Sansa turned around to find a happily surprised Jaime staring down at her. With a tug she untied the knot of her halter dress, letting the front fall down to her waist. She slowly but confidently shimmied out of it, leaving her in nothing but a pink thong. Jaime’s eyes widened in delight as her thumbs hooked into the thong and pulled it down to her feet before stepping out of it and into the shower.

As she wet her hair, she watched Jaime return the favor of her little striptease. He unbuttoned and removed his dress shirt slowly, revealing a white, ribbed tank underneath. As he lifted that over his head, his abdomen and chest lengthened in a delicious way. Next to go were his loafers, then his belt, which he pulled through the loops with a deliberate snap. He unzipped his slacks and Sansa felt heat rising in her, like she was watching some big reveal at the end of a suspenseful movie. As his slacks dropped to the floor, she was not disappointed to find him already bulging against the fabric of his white boxer briefs. He stood there a few moments and Sansa couldn’t help but think that Jaime was more than qualified to be an underwear model. She bit her lip ruefully when her eyes finally made their way up to meet his, but he seemed not the least bit insulted by her blatant gawking.

She shook her head in disbelief, “God damn, hubby…”

He cracked a smile at her words and removed the last article of clothing until he stood, gloriously naked, for her thorough visual inspection. When he finally began walking into the shower, he moved like a lion stalking his prey, and Sansa was both excited and nervous by his approach. Judging by the lust in his eyes, she was expecting him to grab her, kiss her roughly, perhaps throw her against the wall without preamble and fuck her senseless.

But he did none of these things. He only stared at her, letting his eyes rove over her from head to toe before meeting her eyes again and holding them. He didn’t break the stare even as he moved to stand beneath the second shower head, even as he ran his fingers through his now wet hair.

Sansa was motionless, like a deer in headlights, only the headlights were Jaime’s eyes, and the vehicle was his well-built body, and she desperately wanted to be struck by it. Her pussy thrummed. She was wet and ready, and he hadn’t even touched or kissed her. God, what those green eyes could do to her – if she wasn’t already naked, they would undress her, and she’d let them.

Finally her reverie was broken when Jaime nodded at something behind her, “Can you hand me that?”

Sansa turned and saw the toiletries he was referring to. She held the loofah and body wash out to him but instead he grabbed her wrist, pulling her to stand but a foot in front of him. He took the offered items and squeezed a generous dollop of body wash onto the loofah, briefly squishing it between his hands to make suds before running it over Sansa’s left arm. She whimpered at even this innocent contact, so over sensitized was she. Jaime’s eyes followed his hands as he washed each arm, then her chest and belly, and sunk onto one knee before her. He patiently washed each of her legs and feet while Sansa braced herself with one hand on the shower wall.

Methodically he rewet and soaped the loofah and – to Sansa’s surprise – began washing himself. She thought that would be her job but was more than happy to simply be a spectator as her husband washed himself from head to toe. If the striptease was sexy, this was downright erotic. His chest and arm muscles rippled with each movement. When he got to his cock, he soaped it then gave it a few lazy tugs, eliciting another whimper from Sansa. Her channel was slick and dilated, waiting for him.

Once he was squeaky clean, Jaime returned to face Sansa, now only inches between them. His hand moved toward her face and she thought _finally_ he was going to pull her in for a kiss. But instead the hand went past her to grab the shampoo bottle from the built-in shelf.

“Turn,” he said calmly.

She did as told, trying to look sexy rather than excited, and probably failing.

He lathered her hair, massaging the shampoo into her scalp with his strong fingers, tilting her head to each side to get better access to the hair behind her ears and at the nape of her neck.

Without warning he pulled her against him and began kissing her shoulder. She felt instantly weak-kneed, but his strong arm was wrapped just beneath her breasts, supporting her weight. He ravaged her neck and shoulder with a feverishness that contradicted his earlier cool. His cock pressed against her lower back and she was about to beg him to take her when, just as abruptly as it had started, the kissing ended.

He rinsed her hair and proceeded to slather it with a coconut smelling conditioner, resuming his torturously slow pace as he worked his fingers through her long strands, detangling as he went. As sexy as this was, the still-coherent part of Sansa’s brain thought she might just have to put Jaime to use as her own private shampoo boy. Though she loved her long hair, it was tedious work detangling it.

“A girl could get used to this,” she purred.

“Mmm… so could a guy…” he whispered against her ear.

Once finished with her hair, Jaime lathered the loofah one last time and set to work on her back while Sansa held her hair up over her head. When he got to her butt he gently stroked between her legs with the loofah. The friction against her swollen lips was perfection as he washed her quite thoroughly, occasionally letting the top of his thumb rub against her clit just long enough to make her moan.

It was clear he was torturing her on purpose. What she envisioned as a heated romp in the shower turned into just Part I of their night. This was the foreplay, and she trembled to think what he had in mind for the main event.

She would find out soon enough, as they were finally both clean and rinsed and making a half-hearted attempt to dry off without breaking their lust-filled gaze. Sansa curled her toes into the plush bath rug when Jaime stepped toward her. He seemed to be pondering his next move just before he bent down and kissed her lips, backing her up to the double sink. His hand trailed down her body and found her center, dipping a finger inside to tease her while his lips resumed kissing her dewy neck. His movements this time were more purposeful than when they were in the shower, and Sansa could tell it would take but a minute for her to climax.

“Jaime,” she breathed.

His finger stopped, and he pulled his mouth away from her skin. He led her by the hand to the bedroom, where he resumed kissing her lips before using his body to lay her down on the bed. He kissed his way down her chest and belly, and it took all her self-restraint not to push his beautiful blond head between her legs and fuck his face shamelessly.

He made his way up her body and met her lips once more, kissing deeply while his fingers alternated between her nipples and her clit. She panted wantonly as he teased her over and over again, doting on her in the cruelest way imaginable. Deciding to even the score she found his rock-hard cock with her right hand and squeezed, finally breaking his focus as his lips dropped away from her so he could suck in a lungful of air and thrust into her palm.

“Jaime, please,” she begged. Her attempt at torturing him backfired as feeling his silky shaft only made her cunt tremble in expectation.

Instead of answering her plea he made one of his own through breathless lips, “Do you trust me, Sansa?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation, too far gone to care what he did to her as long as she got off soon, but when he left the bed to root through the drawer, she felt a mild fear.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded gently, and she did, because she was as afraid of seeing what toy he’d chosen. A few seconds later a cool, silky fabric was covering her eyes – a sleep mask, she assumed, when she felt Jaime pull an elastic strap over the back of her head.

“Jaime,” she called to him, and he stroked her cheek in response.

“It’s alright, Sansa. You can take it off whenever you want.”

She nodded, uncertain if he was even looking at her face to see the non-verbal agreement. She felt him lay down alongside her, probably propped on one elbow as she felt his hot breath against her nipple. The mere sensation of heat made her press her hips up into the air, looking for contact with some part of him that wasn’t there.

As he licked and sucked at her nipples, his hand glided down her tummy and straight to her clit, which he stroked languidly a few times. His hand was gone but a second before she felt something cool pressed against the length of her slit. He rubbed it up and down and she wondered what it was. A dildo? A vibrator? A candlestick? It could be anything really, and not knowing was bizarrely arousing. In a moment of self-consciousness she blushed at the thought that she could be writhing against something as unsexy as a Sharpie marker, but her fear was vanquished when the mystery object suddenly began buzzing against her skin.

She cried out and instinctively reached for Jaime, gripping the sinewy forearm that was operating the battery-powered toy. She felt his lips ghost the skin of her arm and it soothed her in a way she didn’t know she needed soothing.

Just as her pleasure was building, his hand moved away, only to return with another cool object, this one was softer, perhaps made of rubber or silicone. He stroked it against her lips a few times before inserting it. She thought perhaps it was tapered, but it was hard to discern its shape as he worked it in and out of her quickly. One thing was certain – it was small. This fact disappointed her at first until Jaime made his next move, pressing the now warmed object against her _other_ hole.

“Jaime…” she said quietly. He only shhhed her in response, which is what she needed. She wasn’t telling him to stop, she was only letting him know that this was fairly new territory for her, and that she needed him to go slow. Of course she’d had that unpleasant experience during college, and once the surprisingly pleasant experience of Sandor using his thumb there while taking her from behind, but she still considered herself very inexperienced in this particular domain.

She felt Jaime begin to press it into her as he told her to relax. He flicked his tongue against her clit a few times, which gave her an enjoyable distraction. It took perhaps a minute before she felt her body swallow the largest part of it and where a second ago there was pain now there was only pleasure. Similar to her experience with Sandor, the mere pressure against her _back there_ seemed to amplify what she was feeling _up there_. She felt Jaime shift, and suddenly his tongue was flicking her nipple he worked the vibrator inside her. It was instant heaven. White lightning behind her eyes. Toe curling, leg shaking, back arching euphoria. Every cliché from every cheap romance novel could not describe how powerfully she climaxed, literally screaming as if she was being murdered not pleasured, but she couldn’t care. Her cunt gripped the vibrator so hard it was painful.

The bliss seemed to last an eternity before she pushed Jaime’s hand away and laid boneless and breathless on the bed. While she was coming down Jaime was building up, ravaging her now ticklish body everywhere his hands and lips could reach. She pulled off the mask and watched him, oblivious to her spying eyes in his lust. He kissed his way back to her center and sucked her clit with such force that she came apart again in mere seconds, her skillful lover somehow wringing more pleasure out of her seemingly depleted body.

Despite being exhausted by her two orgasms she was desperate to get her hands on Jaime. She pushed him until he leaned back against the headboard. His cock seemed even longer and harder than usual, and she suppressed a smug grin.

Kneeling at his side she trailed a finger lightly up his shaft, enjoying the sight of it jerking of its own accord as she reached the sensitive tip. She repeated the movement, this time with her tongue, and enjoyed Jaime’s inaudible, groaned response. Mimicking the lazy licks he teased her with earlier, she got an idea. She walked to the dresser and perused the selection, suddenly very aware of the plug that was still inside her. In an act of brazen wantonness she exaggeratedly bent over to look through the drawer, knowing she’d be on full display to Jaime.

“Fuck, wife,” she heard him utter in a strained voice.

Finding the small item she was looking for, she returned to the bed. She spun the silicone cock ring around her index finger like a miniature hula-hoop. Jaime’s eyes brightened in anticipation.

“I want this to last, Lannister,” she said threateningly.

“Yes, ma’am!”

_Good old Jaime, always up for a challenge._

With a bit of effort she got the ring secured at the base of his shaft, which pressed his balls back slightly.

“Does it hurt?” she asked with concern when she noticed his jaw clenching.

“Only in the best possible way,” he responded.

She smiled at that and leaned down to lightly kiss the head of his cock, where dew had already formed. She continued teasing him with featherlight kisses and touches, each time watching his cock twitch involuntarily in response. When she occasionally took him in her mouth he hissed in pleasure and bucked up to meet her lips.

“Sansa,” he groaned, his voice breaking on the first syllable.

“Hmm?” she asked, her lips around his cock.

“I need to fuck you. _Please_.”

She wanted to torment him further but in truth she herself was aching with need. As soon as she felt his steel rod of a cock in her hand, she wanted it inside her. 

She removed her mouth with a pop and shrugged, “Then fuck me.”

Like a tiger he pounced, in one fluid motion pinning her on her back and installing himself between her legs. The next second he was buried to the hilt. What the slim vibrator offered was nothing compared to this feeling of being so full. Hooking the back of her left knee over his forearm he ground into her brutally. She was completely incapable of doing anything but enjoying the onslaught and muttering a chain of unoriginal curses that would make a sailor blush.

“Fuck Jaime, fuck, fuck, fuck!! Oh fuck me, oh God yes!! Oh I love your dick, _fuck!_ Harder, Jaime, harder. Fuck me like you mean it! Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuucccckkkkkkk!!!” With the last drawn out expletive she came hard for the third time that night. Jaime slowed only a bit to let her recover.

“Holy shit, Jaime!”

Without warning he dropped to his side, pulling her back to his chest and entering her from behind. At this angle each thrust was bumping the exposed end of the plug, sending new waves of pleasure straight to her cunt which Jaime was fucking furiously as he groaned and panted into her shoulder, telling her to come again on his cock.

“I can’t,” she cried, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by all the sensations she was feeling anew.

“You can and you will,” he responded with authority.

The angle of his cock had him hitting her G-spot repeatedly, but her inner muscles seemed to have no strength left for another contraction.

“I can’t, please…” she repeated, but he would not be satisfied with that. He rolled her onto her knees and elbows and continued his rapid thrusts into her. This position was certainly a step in the right direction, but it still wasn’t enough. The pleasure was all there, but she had no more _oomph_ left in her. As if reading her mind, Jaime began working the plug in a gentle circular motion, and BAM…

“Holy fuck!” she cried out as she quivered around him again. It felt different this time. Not better or worse, just different. She didn’t have time to reflect on it as Jaime was gripping her hips and fucking into her so quickly that her breasts actually hurt from how hard they were swinging to-and-fro. Skin slapping wet skin and their harmonic panting and mewling created a symphony in the otherwise soundless night.

Jaime was grunting like she’d never heard from him before, a feral noise from low in his throat that was more Sandor’s style. He managed to croak words out between grunts, “Fuck, San… I’m gonna… I’m gonna come. Fuck I’m… oh God…” with a final guttural moan he peaked, pressing himself so far into her sheath that she could feel his ejaculate inside her.

They collapsed as two sweaty, sticky, lifeless blobs. Sansa could only imagine the room – no, the entire _house_ – smelled like sex, and she didn’t even want to know what the sheets looked like. Jaime was sprawled out face-down, his back rising which each breath. She thought he was asleep until he mumbled, “Guess we need another shower, now.”


	32. Meanwhile, back home...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bro time...

_How can life change so drastically in a matter of months?_

Sandor and Nate walked into Sandor’s house in Clifton early that Saturday morning, and Sandor actually felt self-conscious knowing Nate would be judging his design choices – or the lack thereof. Sandor never cared that his house was bare bones. A TV, a couch, a bed, a dresser, his weight set… there were no paintings on the walls, no candles or tchotchkes adorning the tables and counters. Every room was painted the same shade of white. His house was never his “home”; it was the place he showered, slept, and exercised. Two days a week it was also the place he cooked and ate. And Sandor never cared one whit. He didn’t care what anyone thought of it – not that many people ever saw it. Two women had been here – each one-night stands – and the occasional repairman for something Sandor couldn’t fix himself. He had no family, no friends nearby, and thus no reason to make his house a place where people enjoyed gathering.

But now as he walked in with the boyfriend of his girlfriend’s husband – _yeah, that’s normal –_ his palms were actually sweaty. He’d come to respect Nate and knew the artistic man would find his house to be an abomination.

As Nate stood in the small foyer from where he could see the dining room and living room Sandor shoved his hands in his pockets, “I didn’t spend much time here.”

“I don’t blame you,” Nate mumbled.

“I meant… oh never mind.”

Nate walked into each of the three bedrooms and two bathrooms, calling out to Sandor as he did, “Well, at least the bathrooms are clean and modern.”

“Aye. I renovated them when I bought the place. Couldn’t take pink tile from floor to ceiling. I don’t care about aesthetics much but even I have to draw the line somewhere.”

Nate smiled at him, “Well the place is in good shape. Honestly, some fresh paint and a few decorative touches will do wonders, but since you already have some furniture here, I suggest you buy a few more pieces and list it as fully furnished. You can probably get another $200 plus per month if you do.”

“Seriously?” Sandor could feel his eyes bugging. He made good money working for Lannister, but the idea of the almost pure profit he’d get from renting his house out was making him see dollar signs. He planned to stash all the money in the bank for a retirement fund, which is what he did with most of his paychecks anyway. He also had a secret vacation fund. He was going to take Sansa somewhere nice and despite the comfort he’d developed with their arrangement, he didn’t want to fuck Sansa in a hotel bed paid for by Jaime Lannister. He didn’t want to drive a rental car paid for by Jaime Lannister. He didn’t want to take Sansa to a fancy dinner paid for by Jaime Lannister. In truth, he didn’t want to take her to a fancy dinner at all, but he was going to try. For her.

Nate nodded, “Lots of people who move to this area are moving out of the city for the first time. They’ve been overpaying for a tiny studio apartment and they’re lucky if they have a mattress and a kitchen table. To find a place fully furnished they’ll easily fork over an extra couple hundred a month.”

“Wow. Alright, so…”

Nate smiled and smacked Sandor on the shoulder, “Don’t worry. I’ll pick everything out, even the paint colors. You just do the carrying and painting. Deal?”

“I can’t ask you to do that, though I appreciate the offer. Maybe you could just give me some ideas.”

Nate rolled his eyes, “Sandor, I’m a gay artist. Give me your credit card and carte blanche to go on a home goods shopping spree, and I’ll be the happiest queer this side of the Mississippi.”

Sandor snorted, “If you insist.”

Sandor spent the rest of the weekend in awe of Nate’s decisiveness, thriftiness, and design sense. First they hit up the hardware store and picked out paint and supplies, then Nate dropped Sandor off at the house so he could start painting. Without much furniture to move around it went fairly quickly, and the paint in all three bedrooms was drying by the time Nate returned with a pickup truck full of bedroom furniture and decorations. Nate handed him a few receipts and Sandor was surprised to find the total was only about $1500. Noticing Sandor’s shocked face Nate grinned proudly, “I am a thrift shop wizard. Only thing I bought buy new is the mattress and boxspring for the second bedroom. Just something cheap. Tenants can always upgrade.”

Sandor nodded at Nate as Bronn’s jeep pulled into the driveway.

“You know,” Bronn started as he hopped out of the vehicle, “we’re friends, but not quite good enough friends for you to ask for help moving furniture.”

“Then why are you here?” Sandor asked.

Bronn lifted his eyebrows mischievously, “I was hoping Red would be here.”

Sandor knew it was a lie. Bronn liked teasing Sansa and teasing the various men in her life _about_ her, but he actually was a good friend to Sandor and was very respectful of Sansa.

Just then the passenger door opened, and TJ hopped out, waving to Sandor and introducing himself to Nate.

“Thank God,” Sandor grumbled toward Bronn, “you brought some _real_ muscle.”

TJ smiled proudly while Bronn chuckled, “Just so you know, he works for pizza and beer.”

TJ’s eyes went wide and Bronn cleared his throat, “I mean, pizza and _soda_.”

The day was surprisingly pleasant. Nate gave orders and Sandor, Bronn, and TJ carried in the furniture, lamps, decorations, and throw rugs. By evening they were spent, and Sandor ordered pizza, wings, beer, and soda from the pizza shop down the street. Sandor was surprised when TJ said he didn’t want to leave.

Bronn clasped the kid’s shoulder, “Come on, your mom will be missing you. Don’t want her calling the cops thinking I’m some kind of kiddy perv.”

Sandor and Nate exchanged a glance. Bronn’s words were crude, but the kid just looked amused. It was odd to admit, but Bronn seemed to be a good influence on TJ just by being himself. Sandor wondered if he could have a similar relationship with a kid. Then he wondered how his life would be different if he had someone around when he was a kid, alone and dealing with the aftermath of his gruesome injury. Having someone around who just treated him like a normal kid, without either pitying or fearing him. Would he be a normal adult now? Not self-conscious about his appearance? Not incapable of letting his guard completely down?

As Bronn and TJ waved their goodbyes out the windows of the jeep Sandor could feel Nate’s eyes on him, but luckily the man was smart enough to bite his tongue.

Sandor cleared his throat, “I’m sleeping here tonight so I can start painting early. If you want to crash here… I mean, not like… I mean, there are two beds here now.”

Nate seemed to enjoy watching Sandor struggle to find the right words to invite a gay man to spend the night at his house in a totally platonic way. Finally he put him out of his misery, “Thanks for the offer but the stores I want to hit up for the rest of the furniture and décor are closer to my place in the city. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon!”

“Yeah, cool. Thanks, Nate,” Sandor mumbled before heading back inside.

Looking around the now-quiet house, the last thing Sandor wanted to do was sleep. With a sigh he began prepping the dining room to paint. He painted the dining room, living room, and kitchen and collapsed some time after two in the morning, asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	33. Weekend at Sunspear II

Jaime wasn’t expecting the conversation to take the direction it had and was having a difficult time navigating it. He’d worked for three hours in the morning while Sansa slept in then helped Ellaria cook breakfast. Just after midday the women were swimming in the blue waters, while Oberyn and Jaime sat in lounge chairs drinking mojitos and talking business. Occasionally they’d join their ladies in the water to cool off, but the conversation never stopped. Jaime found Oberyn and he shared very similar ideals and work ethics, yet whenever the topic of Oberyn supporting Jaime’s congressional campaign came up, Oberyn waved it off. Jaime knew not to pressure him; Oberyn was trying to read him, get to know him. Like taking a woman out to dinner before you sleep with her – you can’t spend the entire meal asking whether she will sleep with you. You just have to be as charming as possible and hope for the best.

That’s why Jaime was surprised at Oberyn’s sudden decision to address the issue head on several hours and mojitos later.

“I like you, Jaime. You’re not your father, though I can admit you may have inherited his few worthwhile traits.”

“Wow; tell me what you really think of him,” Jaime joked.

Oberyn spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness, “I would very much like to do business with you, Jaime.”

Jaime felt his eyes widen, “So you’ll—”

“No. I won’t be endorsing _Jaime Lannister for Congress_. I’d prefer to find some other ways to collaborate. Each of us is part of large, diversified family businesses; certainly there are opportunities for collaboration. Plus we each have our personal investments. Personally, I have found few partners and investors over the years who I trust; people with the amount of money you and I have typically lack any trace of morality.”

Jaime didn’t know how to respond but decided to be blunt yet tactful, “I’m flattered that you’d want to work with me in any capacity, though you must know my intent was to gain your political support.”

Oberyn nodded, “I know; but frankly, I do not wish to support your political aspirations because I do not think you’re cut out for it.”

Jaime looked away, speechless. Oberyn laughed, “I mean that as a compliment... Do you know how many politicians I’ve entertained over the years, Jaime?”

Jaime just shook his head.

“Dozens… and do you know what they all had in common?”

“No,” Jaime answered honestly, glad he could again make his tongue work.

“They were all arrogant pricks. They were despicable human beings. Don’t get me wrong, they know how to have a good time, but they have no shame about the people they’ve stepped on or in some cases kicked to get where they are in either business or politics.”

“And you think that’s how I’d be?” Jaime asked, unable to hide his insult.

“No, I think that’s what you’d _become_. You think all of those men and women started out corrupt? Some did, of course, but most were like you – with dreams of changing the world. But changing the world takes time; it takes more than one term – it takes many terms – many years. And you don’t get re-elected unless you play by _their_ rules… Unless you take the bribe; unless you do the big corporation’s bidding; unless you go along and not make waves with the establishment…”

At hearing Oberyn’s words Jaime should have argued, should have insisted that he could break the mold, but he didn’t. The fact that believing Oberyn was so tempting spoke volumes to him about his real desires. Oberyn was an observant man, “You know I speak true.” It wasn’t a question.

Jaime nodded slowly but couldn’t find words to express the range of emotions warring within him. Sansa and Ellaria strode up the beach, making for a welcome distraction. Sansa stared at Jaime a moment before sitting on his lap and whispering so only he could here, “You okay?”

He gave her hips a squeeze, “Yeah,” he whispered back, and it wasn’t a complete lie.

She nodded and pressed an understanding kiss to his cheek. When she was about to rise, he pulled her back down, “I wanna get trashed,” he said out loud, matter-of-factly.

Sansa grinned mischievously – a look mirrored by both Oberyn and Ellaria. Oberyn extended a hand to both of them, helping them to rise in unison, “Then you’re in good company.”

………..

Sansa was snorting over something Ellaria had said, though in his current state of intoxication Jaime could hardly keep up with the chatty women.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Sansa giggled, “I’ve never been jealous of other women’s looks, but when Jaime and I go places together I worry that _he_ is going to upstage _me_!”

It was Ellaria’s turn to laugh, “Being with beautiful men has its disadvantages.”

Jaime shook his head, “I’m not beautiful; I’m classically handsome,” he spoke defiantly.

“You are, but you’re also…” Sansa started.

“Pretty,” Ellaria finished.

Sansa giggled some more, “When we went to my friend’s wedding a few months back all the women wanted a turn dancing with Jaime. Not a single man asked me to dance!” Sansa pretended to pout.

Jaime wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed those pouty lips, “That’s because they were all afraid of your manly husband with his rugged good looks,” Jaime puffed his chest out from where he sat on a big blanket in the sand. It was a beautiful night and after a delicious meal and copious amounts of wine, both couples sat down at the beach to look at the clear night sky. The stars were abundant in absence of city lights. The moonlight reflecting off the water made the night look downright magical. And all four friends were pleasantly drunk (and a bit high).

Ellaria teased Jaime some more, “You certainly look like a capable man. A man can be capable _and_ beautiful.” She turned and kissed Oberyn, making it quite clear she found him to be both of those things.

“Damn straight,” Jaime nodded, brooking no argument. Sansa stroked his cheek, no doubt hoping her teasing hadn’t wounded his ego too much; he’d frowned a bit. _Let her think I’m hurt… she gets so affectionate when trying to cheer me up._

True to form she stroked his cheek and planted a kiss on his lips. Still looking at him but addressing the other couple she began recounting his _heroics_ the night of the Greenfield’s Halloween party. Jaime felt himself blush but Ellaria and Oberyn seemed genuinely impressed. The latter shared his own thoughts, “I’m glad to hear you’re capable of defending yourself, Sansa; but even more glad to hear that Jaime is not the type of man to let someone disrespect his wife. Men who try to take advantage of women are despicable.” The malice in Oberyn’s tone was clear.

Sansa nodded understandingly, but as usual she responded with humor, “That’s why I said they should all be gelded. Problem solved.”

Jaime chuckled, “While I don’t entirely disagree with you, wife, I think with such a punishment looming over them, men would walk around with their eyes downcast and their hands in their pockets.”

“So,” Ellaria shrugged, “What’s wrong with that?”

…

The night was pleasant albeit hazy thanks to Jaime’s level of inebriation. All he knew was that as he listened to the women chatting (and frequently teasing the men) he had not a care in the world, though he knew he’d awaken with many.

In the moonlight Sansa was radiant. Though she was clearly enjoying Ellaria’s company, she frequently looked at Jaime where he lay on the blanket staring up at the stars. A small smile or pat of his hand would remind him he wasn’t alone, and he’d smile back.

After what may have been hours or minutes Sansa pulled Jaime’s hands until he relented and sat up, but she wanted him standing. After letting her struggle against his weight he finally complied. “What do you want?” he asked with exaggerated whininess.

“To swim!” she pulled off her gauzy cover-up then pulled Jaime’s unbuttoned shirt off his arms.

“San, we’re drunk. I think this is how people end up drowning.”

“The tide is low and we won’t go out far. Besides, I’m sure Oberyn will save us if it comes to that – it will impress Ellaria!” Sansa smiled giddily.

She led Jaime down to the water’s edge by the hand but Oberyn called after them, “I have rules about swimming after dark…”

Sansa turned back, expecting him to provide some stern warning but his grin hinted otherwise, “If you’re going to swim drunk at night, you need to do it naked.”

Jaime watched Sansa’s eyes widen momentarily before a mischievous smile appeared on her pretty pink lips. Without warning she yanked Jaime’s swim shorts down to his ankles.

“What the fuck, San?!”

“You said what happens in Sunspear stays in Sunspear,” she shrugged while yanking off her bikini top and bottom and wading into the calm waters.

“Ah, fuck it,” Jaime followed.

Sansa and Jaime frolicked in the warm ocean water, splashing and tossing each other about. Occasionally they’d stop and float together, looking up at the starry sky. During one such moment Sansa spoke, “What’s wrong Jaime? Did Oberyn—”

“Not tonight, San. We’ll talk about it, but tonight I want to not worry, to not care… is that alright?”

Sansa nodded, “Good, because whatever Oberyn gave us is making it _really_ hard for me to care...”

“I know, right? You think it was MDMA?”

Sansa shook her head, “Probably, and don’t say ‘MDMA, say ‘E’ or ‘candy’ – you sound like a grandpa…”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “Sorry I spend my days working instead of keeping up with the street names for illicit drugs.”

Sansa shrugged, “I watch _The_ _First 48_ with Sandor on Thursday nights.”

Jaime snorted, pulling Sansa against him and floating with her in silence under the stars as she planted purposeful kisses on his neck. He smiled, “Reminds me of our honeymoon.”

“Mmm, she purred against his skin, “a good night, as I recall.”

“Mmhmm… and let no one say we’re not traditional… didn’t sleep together until after we were wed.”

Sansa giggled, “Yes, we’re as traditional as they come,” she never ceased her kisses on his throat, and Jaime felt his need building quickly as he stroked his hands up and down her waist as her long legs tightened around his hips. His feet anchored them in the soft sand, and he watched with fascination as Sansa’s breasts floated just at the surface. A giggle broke his trance, “You’re staring hubby.”

“Can you blame me?” he asked innocently while planting a trail of kisses from her collar bone down to her breasts. She moaned disproportionately to the lightness of his touch, and he wondered if it was the man, the atmosphere, or the drugs that had her so aroused that she was grinding herself against him.

“Jaime…” she breathed, and he knew what she needed. Without speaking he waded out of the water, carrying her easily while she continued kissing and licking at his neck. He thought to carry her straight to their bungalow, but upon seeing Oberyn and Ellaria were distracted by their own passionate embrace he brought her to their blanket and laid her down instead. She turned to see the other couple, “Jaime?” she said uncertainly, but he silenced her with a kiss that melted away her concern.

They lay entwined, kissing with slow hunger. Each kiss and caress ignited Jaime’s desire for his wife.

 _My wife,_ he thought with wonder. Everything with Sansa was so easy. Their relationship was never a source of stress for him, only comfort. She was so accepting of him, of his faults, if she even saw them as such. He felt so perfect in this moment, so carefree. He could die right now, and all would be well.

Sansa’s vice like grip on his shaft pulled him from his musings. His desire to make this perfect night last as long as possible overrode his primal impulse to surge into his wife’s warm body. He licked his way down her flat belly, but apparently spent too much time kissing her inner thighs, for she gripped his hair tightly and pulled him toward her juncture, “Please Jaime, _please…”_ she whined. Where his lust was on a steady simmer, hers was boiling over. The first flick of his tongue had her mewling and bucking against him, making him feel rather God-like. He explored her with a curiosity he’d never felt before, like every inch of her was something new to discover. A lick here resulted in a jerk, a kiss there a moan, a suck there and she called his name. But the territory she was confining him to was too small; he wanted to explore her from head to toe. Would kisses on her pretty toes tickle or excite her? Would a caress behind the knee make her kick out or dig in?

“Jaime, please…” she begged again.

 _Focus…_ he scolded himself, though couldn’t summon any real concern. But he’d give her what she needed, nonetheless. He set upon her in earnest, burying his tongue inside her while his nose pressed against her clit.

“Fuck!” she cried out. She was writhing on the blanket, fingers buried in his blond hair, which was a bit shaggier than normal as Sansa and Nate both preferred it longer. The effect he was having on her with such little effort finally gave him the focus he needed, so much so that he didn’t notice Ellaria had slithered her way over to their blanket until she had a hand stroking Sansa’s waist as she kneeled over her. Sansa was looking up at her in what could only be described as confused excitement.

Ellaria lowered her face to just inches above Sansa’s and breathed out a question, “Can we play, gorgeous?”

Jaime stared in awe even as his lips stayed glued to Sansa’s clit. The fantasy he’d never had was coming to life before him… or was he imagining all this? Perhaps he’d fallen into a wine-induced slumber, but the rare erotic dreams he recalled had always been about men, not women.

Sansa nodded timidly, but her body seemed confident where her mind was not. With a hand on Ellaria’s neck she pulled the exotic beauty down to capture her lips tenderly, and Jaime’s cock swelled at the sight. His eyes followed the long line of Ellaria’s body, propped on elbows and knees. Oberyn was stroking and kissing her long back reverently while watching the display with unconcealed interest.

As the women kissed more passionately Oberyn crouched behind Ellaria and began pleasuring her with his tongue. Jaime watched for a few moments before resuming his ministrations, causing Sansa to moan into Ellaria’s mouth. The raven-haired woman kissed down Sansa’s neck, chest, and belly where she met Jaime’s eyes. Without giving him time to consider a protest she put both hands on his face and pulled him away from his work for a kiss.

“Mmm,” she moaned against his lips, before rolling back to her blanket where Oberyn wasted not a moment. As Ellaria laid on her side facing Jaime and Sansa the fit man lifted her left leg to enter her from behind, causing her to cry out at the sudden invasion. The couple rocked together seamlessly while Oberyn pulled her by the chin to capture her lips, licking at them shamelessly.

“Delicious,” Oberyn muttered, and Jaime wondered if he was referring to the taste of his girlfriend’s lips, Jaime’s lips, or Sansa’s essence. Something told him it was the combination of all three.

“Jaime,” Sansa moaned, and he knew exactly what she wanted for it was what he wanted to. Climbing up her body he kissed her neck before settling behind her. As mirror images the couples moved in perfect synchronization. Sansa moaned in ecstasy, “Closer.” Jaime and Oberyn scooted their respective ladies closer together so the women could resume their _playing,_ while their men stayed propped up on one elbow to enjoy the view. With a boldness Jaime wouldn’t have expected from her, Sansa lowered her lips to take one of Ellaria’s dark nipples in her mouth, prompting Oberyn to groan and quicken his pace. Ellaria dropped her head, exposing her long neck to her man’s attentions.

Jaime knew Sansa could rarely have her first peak from intercourse alone, so he reached between her thighs to stroke her until he got a better idea. He lifted her leg and propped it on Ellaria’s hip. The woman smiled knowingly and needed no prompting before running her slender fingers along Sansa’s clit.

“Fuck!” Jaime groaned into Sansa’s shoulder. If he watched what was happening, he’d surely spill himself too soon. Luckily the sedative effect of the wine was countering the stimulating effects of the drugs.

Oberyn chuckled good-naturedly, “First time, Jaime?”

“Yes,” Jaime breathed against Sansa’s skin.

“We’re lucky men,” Oberyn stated matter-of-factly.

“You have no idea,” Jaime mumbled, and the swell of pride he felt for Sansa made him increase his pace, giving her the short fast thrusts that would invariably send her over the edge. Sansa and Ellaria were panting into each other, kissing gracelessly as each’s pleasure overtook them.

“Jaime…” Sansa said… it was a warning, a question, and a plea all rolled into one.

“Come Sansa, come for us,” he spoke gently but firmly.

“Oh God! Jaime, Jaime, _Jaime_!!” she cried out, and he could feel her cunt shivering around him. The sight of her euphoria seemed to spur on the other couple. Ellaria offered her slick fingers to Oberyn who sucked them ravenously as he thrust into Ellaria at a blistering pace. They came together hard, and Jaime followed suit, allowing himself to be pulled over by the sight of Oberyn’s scrunched face as he came into his lovely woman. Jaime collapsed onto his side but kept Sansa pulled close as the final ebbs of his orgasm faded.

He woke only once, briefly, that night, his body wrapped around Sansa’s, which was wrapped around Ellaria’s, which cuddled against Oberyn’s chest.

 _What happens in Sunspear stays in Sunspear,_ he reminded himself before reaching back to pull the far edge of the large blanket over them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... so nervous to post this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. In case any SanSan shippers are jealous of all the Jaimsa time, or jealous that the first sort-of threesome did NOT include Sandor, my logic is this: Sandor is still somewhat inhibited with anyone but Sansa. He needs to get to a place where he is confident and comfortable. Likewise, Sansa and Jaime need to be comfortable enough with each other to be able to bring Sandor in on their naughty times and guide him through that experience. :) 
> 
> Remember, though these characters are not prudish, neither are they super experienced. Sandor's had nothing but quick fucks. Sansa has had unhealthy relationships with men she couldn't let her guard down with, and Jaime is certainly the most experienced but more so in M/M than F/M. They all need to learn and mature a bit otherwise a SanJaimsa would be awkward AF, with Sandor probably punching Jaime and Sansa probably crying.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! So many lovely comments after the last chapter. I had the next one drafted but not proofread and it was torture when I didn't get time to edit and post it, because I think (hope) it addresses the infidelity concern many of you had. Rest assured loyal readers, this fic will stay SanSan/Jaimsa/SanJaimsa centric, and of course, Naime.

“Honey, we’re home!” Jaime called out that Sunday night as they entered their large home on Pines Lake. The scent of garlic and tomato wafted into his nostrils, “Oh, God bless Sandor,” Jaime mumbled at Sansa, but she just bit her lip nervously. She’d woken Sunday morning absolutely horrified by her actions the previous night. Of course she was polite to Oberyn and Ellaria but as soon as she and Jaime headed into their bungalow to shower and pack, she had turned on him.

“How could you let me do that?!” she exclaimed, blushing furiously.

“Do what?”

“I’m not fucking around, Jaime.”

Jaime could only chuckle, “I know you’re not, but I think you’re over-reacting. We all enjoyed it; you did nothing wrong Sansa.”

“Well maybe to you, Mr. Sex Machine, having a wild sex party is no big deal, but to me it is!”

“Oookay… A) Thanks for calling me a sex machine, though I’m not sure I qualify. B) I think you need more than four people to make it a party.”

“You know what I mean! Why aren’t you bothered by this?!” she was pacing the room, angrily gathering their scattered clothing and tossing each piece into a suitcase. Jaime resisted the compulsion to fold each article neatly.

“What’s there to be bothered by?”

“Don’t you feel like we betrayed Nate and Sandor?”

That truly hadn’t even occurred to him, and he was surprised it was on her mind, “First of all, Nate and I don’t have an exclusive relationship, as you know. Second of all, I didn’t fuck anyone other than you, and you didn’t fuck anyone other than me.”

“But I kissed Ellaria! I let her touch me! Oberyn licked… my… my… licked _me_ off her fingers! He knows what I taste like,” Sansa cringed.

Jaime could only blink at her, “San, you need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she shouted with more anger than Jaime had ever seen in her.

Jaime decided she’d cool down eventually after the initial shock of their previous night wore off. With nothing productive to say, he took his shower, and an hour later they were giving their polite goodbyes and thank you’s to their hosts. Sansa had indeed calmed down, but he could tell she was still ashamed and embarrassed, blushing when Oberyn told them they’d be welcome for another visit anytime. Ellaria gave Sansa a platonic hug, perhaps sensing her unease, “Next time I’m up north I’ll call you; we can go shopping and have lunch.”

When they got home and found Sandor in the kitchen the tall man greeted them warmly, “Hey, I wasn’t sure if you guys would be hungry so I made meatballs, but we can have them tomorrow if you’re not.”

As he spoke, he walked toward Sansa and took her in a hug that she returned weakly, “Did you have a good time?” he asked innocently.

_I sure did…_

“Sandor, I need to tell you something,” Sansa spoke down to her feet while wringing her hands in front of her. Jaime could see worry form instantly on Sandor’s face. His eyes darted to Jaime who just shook his head.

It seemed to take Sandor considerable strength to answer casually, “Okay… what’s up?”

“I’m so sorry…”

_Wrong way to start._

Sandor went stiff.

Sansa forged on, “I… well, we all got really drunk and took these pills, Ecstasy I think, not that that’s an excuse…”

Jaime felt himself wince; a million horrible images were probably going through Sandor’s mind.

“And…” she took a deep breath, “and Ellaria and I kind of…”

Concern melted into a puzzled expression on Sandor’s face, “You kind of _what_?”

“Kissed. And… other stuff.”

Jaime leaned against the counter idly stirring the sauce to distract himself from the awkwardness. Sansa looked like she’d just confessed to killing a baby, while Sandor just looked confused.

“Just you and Ellaria?” he asked, “Not you and Oberyn?”

Sansa grimaced, “Well Oberyn was _there_ …”

The worry returned to his face, “What did he do, Sansa?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Jaime had to intervene, “I fucked Sansa, while Oberyn fucked Ellaria, and Ellaria and Sansa kissed and touched each other for some of the time.”

“Jaime!” Sansa scolded.

“What? You’re torturing the poor man!” he pointed upturned hands at a stunned Sandor.

Sandor looked like he was desperately trying to process all this. When he finally spoke, he proved to be jealous indeed, but not the way Sansa had feared. He looked to Jaime, “You fucked one woman, while she was kissing another woman?”

Jaime tried ineffectively to contain his proud grin as he nodded.

“Fuck!” Sandor threw his arms up, “Jaime gets everything! It’s not enough to be rich and handsome, you get to have a threesome, too? Two beautiful women at the same time?!”

Jaime buried his hands in his pockets and teetered back and forth on his feet, trying to look ashamed – and failing, “Yeeuuppp, though it was really more like three-twosomes occurring simultaneously. Me and San, San and Ellaria, and Ellaria and Oberyn.”

“Oh my god!” Sandor turned in a 360 in disbelief, “I’m so fucking jealous! How awesome was it? Wait – don’t tell me…”

“It was SO awesome!” Jaime responded, uncaring that he sounded like a thirteen-year-old who’d finally touched a boob.

Sansa looked back and forth between them, aghast, before turning to Sandor, “You’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” he shrugged, “I’m only mad it wasn’t me.”

“See!” Jaime exclaimed, “I told you; you had no reason to feel guilty.”

“But the circle!” Sansa shouted.

“What about it? It’s not broken. We all know how we feel. It was a one-time thing, on a private island. I think we can stretch the circle a bit during vacations…”

Sansa turned to Sandor, all guilt now replaced by irritation as her eyes narrowed, “Don’t get any ideas!”

“What?!” Sandor motioned to his chest, “What did I do? I spent the weekend painting a house and moving furniture with three other dudes.”

“Oh yeah, your rental…” Jaime smacked his head remembering that Nate and Sandor had made plans to give Sandor’s property some TLC, “How did that go?”

“Who the fuck cares? I wanna hear about your thing… so Ellaria and Sansa…” Sandor coughed, trying to downplay his eagerness to hear details.

Sansa rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass of red wine.

Jaime smiled, “Well, I don’t like to kiss and tell, but it was pretty fucking hot… and I must say, Oberyn’s in great shape…”

Sandor squirmed, “Ugh, don’t ruin it for me, I’m trying to pretend he wasn’t there. No offense, I’m also trying to pretend you weren’t there.”

Jaime laughed, “None taken. Really though it was so odd, I never fantasized about being with two women at once…”

“Well obviously,” Sandor rolled his eyes.

“Right… but it was quite the turn-on, especially when Ellaria—”

“Alright!” Sansa shouted, her cheeks flaming red as she raised her hands to silence Jaime.

“When Ellaria what? Don’t fucking leave me hanging,” Sandor plead with a desperation Jaime had never seen in the man.

Jaime looked to Sansa who rolled her eyes while taking her wine and heading for the patio door, “I need a cigarette. Get it out of your system now, because we’re _never_ talking about this again.”

The second the glass door clicked shut behind her, they got it out of their system.

…

Unfortunately for Sansa, her and Sandor had very different reactions to what had transpired at Sunspear. When they went to bed that night, Sandor practically mauled her, but despite his earlier reassurances she still felt like a horrible person. When he realized she wasn’t returning his ardor he rolled onto his back with a sigh, “This about the Ellaria thing?” he mumbled.

“No… well yes, but bigger than that.”

He propped himself on an elbow, “Talk.”

“I just feel like a horrible person and I don’t know why you want me.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, letting a woman diddle your twat doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he rubbed at his eyes.

Sansa felt her cheeks heat at his language, but she pressed on, “It’s not just that… I just feel like you get the short end of the stick. I’m always having my cake and eating it, too, while you have to settle for whatever crumbs I leave behind.”

“San—”

“No, let me finish. When we first met, I just fell so fast. Then I was thinking of everything I’d given up and I didn’t want to have to give _you_ up, too. I thought you’d be the _one_ good thing in an otherwise shitty existence. But then Jaime turned out to be great, and I love this life... you, Jaime, our house, our friends… And you’re still the best part of it, but what about _you_? Are _you_ happy here? With me? Following around a spoiled housewife… having a girlfriend who doesn’t just sleep with another man on a regular basis but has a drug-fueled fling with another woman… How can you be happy with all this? What do you get from me? Why don’t you want something more? Someone more?”

Sandor stared at her long and hard and she briefly feared that she should have kept her mouth shut. When a minute passed and he still did not speak she turned away from him on the pretext of shutting off the table lamp, but really it was to hide the glistening of her eyes.

“Goodnight,” she whispered as she pulled the blanket over her, even though she knew it would not be a good night for her. She desperately wished there was some ambient noise to fill the empty silence. Instead it was just her and him breathing. He wasn’t even moving. He hadn’t shifted, or pulled his side of the blankets up, or laid his head on the pillow. She knew he was just there, still looking at her, probably having the realization that everything she’d said was true – she was a greedy bitch and she offered him nothing. She laid there, tense as a bow string, hyper-aware of her own rapid heartbeat and the ache in the back of her throat from suppressed tears.

“What’s it like when you’re with him?” his raspy voice startled her.

“What?”

“When you’re with Jaime, what’s it like?”

“Sandor – you said you don’t want to hear—”

“I don’t mean details, Sansa. How does it _feel_ for you?”

She exhaled loudly, knowing the truth would be painful but that he didn’t deserve lies, “It feels good. Great, actually. For a gay guy, he knows his way around a woman’s body. And I feel comfortable with him, he always makes me feel comfortable. And wanted.”

“And how do you feel with me?”

For the first time all day, Sansa smiled a genuine smile, “ _Right_. Like I could die… in a good way. Like everything and yet not enough because no matter how much I have you I want more. Like everything that’s ever happened in my life and your life happened with the sole purpose of putting us in the same place at the same time… It’s perfection.”

She felt a warm hand on her hip, and his chin rested in the dip of her waist. He exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath, “It’s the same for me. If there was a way to spend every second of every day inside you, I would. And not just because it feels good physically, but because it feels like… like _home._ It feels like the thing I never had and didn’t even know to want, but now that I have it, I’m never giving it up.”

“Sandor—” she breathed, but he interrupted her.

“I’m not done. I don’t want you to think I’m just talking about the sex Sansa. I’m talking about being with you. Without trying you’ve made me a better fucking person. I have friends. I have goals. There are things I want to do – other than drinking and smoking and eating and fucking.”

She rolled over, no longer embarrassed by the unshed tears in her lashes. He sat up as she did but kept his hand on her hip, stroking it idly as she spoke, “Like what?”

“Well, I’ve seen Bronn with TJ, and it made me wonder…”

She knew her eyes widened, “If you could be a Big Brother, too.”

He nodded, “Yeah. Or something like it. When I was young, I had no one. I wonder how I’d be today if someone had been around. Not for lectures or life lessons or any of that bullshit; just been there to show me what it means to be a man. A man who respected women, who worked a respectable job, who was confident, who knew how to control his anger…”

“Sandor, that’s great! You should definitely do it.”

He shrugged, looking suddenly self-doubting, “I might. Don’t know if I’m ‘Big Bro’ material… don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Don’t do that! You would be amazing at it! Just like Bronn seems to be, in a weird way… I’ll write a reference for you, if it helps… so what else?”

“Hmm?”

“What other goals or wants?”

“Oh; nothing serious, just…”

“Just what?”

He grunted his disapproval but moved to retrieve his phone. After a few taps he brought up an aerial photo of a beautiful villa surrounded by lush foliage.

Sansa looked at him, confused, “You want to buy another house?”

He rolled his eyes, “No; it’s a villa in Costa Rica. Very secluded and private but only a short walk to the beach. Has a huge pool, hot tub, spacious kitchen, great views… It has everything.”

“You want to go on a vacation?”

“Yeah, with you. I mean, if you like it. And when you’re ready…”

“You picked this out? For us?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “I figured instead of staying at some resort or hotel where we’ll have to be on our best behavior, we should go someplace where we’ll have privacy.”

“Sandor!” Sansa’s heart swelled and before she could stop herself, she was peppering him with kisses, “That is so sweet! And yes, that’s a great idea!”

He smiled shyly and she kissed that, too, before grabbing his phone and scrolling through the photos, “Oh wow, an infinity pool? Oh my god, look at the huge open-air bedroom! And bathroom! Look at the size of that tub. You could fit five people in that thing!”

He chuckled, “Or one of me.”

She swatted his bare chest, “Sandor! This place is $800 a night!”

“So?”

“So… that’s a lot of money. My old apartment was $800 a _month_!”

“Did your apartment overlook the ocean and rainforest? Did it have a giant pool and hot tub?”

“No, it overlooked a gas station, and had a shower stall I could barely shave my legs in.”

He chuckled, “Well, there you go. And yes, I can afford it. And no, we’re not spending Jaime’s money on it.”

Sansa knew better than to argue. She bit her lip and nodded before straddling Sandor’s hips, “You know… lots of surfaces in that villa...”

He nodded slowly, “Mmhmm…”

“Which one should we Christen first?”

“The closest one to the driveway; I won’t be able to wait.”

Sansa smiled against his lips as she kissed him, “I won’t make you.”

With a speed that belied his large frame he had Sansa flipped onto her back, his right forearm pinning her wrists above her head while his left stroked the outside of her thigh under her night dress. She could free herself but didn’t want to.

“Sansa,” he breathed in a husky voice.

“I know.”

His beard scratched her neck as he nuzzled into her. It was a feeling she relished – the softness of his lips contrasting the coarseness of his hair. As he trailed kisses down her neck and chest, she was instantly aroused – as always. She both loved and resented the power he had over her body. A few grumbled words, a quick squeeze of flesh when no one was looking, or a searing glance from his gray eyes and she was a puddle of want. Tonight was no different, despite her earlier sullen mood.

“Wanton little thing,” he admonished her in jest, and she realized she’d been bucking her hips up to seek contact with his, well, _anything._ Mercifully his fingers made their way toward her core only to stop just centimeters away.

“Cunt tease,” she attempted to sound lighthearted, but wasn’t sure she pulled it off until he chuckled.

“Then I suppose it’s payback for about a hundred times you did the same,” he nibbled her earlobe.

“What?! I do _not_ tease you.”

“Every time we go somewhere together you tease me. Swaying your hips, biting your lip… that face you make when you’re deep in thought…”

Sansa rolled her eyes but secretly loved that he found her little, involuntary mannerisms endearing. Only then she realized he had a few of his own, “Oh yeah? What about when you stretch in the morning… or when you adjust yourself while driving… or when you scrub dishes… or that excited look you get when I say I want to go to Costco?”

He was suddenly staring at her very seriously, “When I _adjust_ myself…?”

“Yeah,” she felt herself blush, “I mean, I picture your cock all squished up inside your jeans. I just want to set him free.” As she spoke, she loosened the drawstring and lowered the band of his sweatpants, “It’s a crime, really… He doesn’t belong all confined.”

“Oh yeah? Where does he belong then?”

Sansa took the bait gladly, literally pulling Sandor by the cock until he was between her legs. Knowing feeling her heat would make him want nothing more than to push forward, Sansa took the opportunity to give him a few lazy strokes, letting his tip bump into her clit each time. It felt so good and she quickly realized what was meant to tease him was also extremely pleasurable to her. _Is it wrong to take my pleasure this way when I started out the evening begging forgiveness (even if he said it wasn’t needed)?_

Deciding to test his patience, she made herself comfortable and pulled him down for a kiss as she continued pumping him against her, sometimes pausing the thrusts to instead circle his velvet tip against her clit. _Like a joystick. Hah, a JOY-STICK!_

“What’s so funny?” he moaned. She must have been smiling against his lips.

“Oh, just thought of a nickname for your cock.”

“Free Willy?”

“Hah! No… though I like that, too. I was thinking of ‘joystick’.”

He chuckled then spoke with a strained voice, “I’ll never play _Frogger_ the same way again.”

Returning to business, she continued pumping him quickly against her slick flesh, tightening her grip as she felt herself close in on the finish line.

“Fuck, Sansa,” he growled, leaning lower and panting. Apparently, this was more _mutual benefit_ than _cock tease_ , and she was glad, for it was quickly becoming her second favorite thing to do with his cock. Only as she approached her peak, it was harder to keep her thrusts rhythmically consistent. _How do guys jerk off without their hand going all haywire before they climax?_

Sensing her need he took over the work, pumping furiously against her as he took staccato breaths, eyes squeezing shut. The sight of him straining to delay his own pleasure for her sake made her come, and just as she did, he let himself slip inside her seamlessly, giving several rapid thrusts before depositing his seed with a few jerky movements.

He collapsed to the bed, panting, one arm still trapped beneath her neck where it had been the entire time. Bending that elbow he pulled Sansa toward him where she nuzzled into his shoulder, content to smell his clean sweat and let him kiss her on the forehead. She drifted into a happy slumber.

\------------------------------------------------

“Seriously Sansa, do you really need _fall_ decorations? Just leave up the Halloween stuff another couple weeks then go right to Christmas.”

“Halloween and Thanksgiving are two different things. Now did you hear what I said?”

Sandor rubbed his forehead, “Yes, take down everything that is black and orange, and anything that has a witch, jack-o-lantern or ghost on it. Leave the pumpkins, gourds, scarecrows, haybales and cornstalks.”

Sansa smiled warmly at him, but he didn’t let her sweetness distract him, “That’s all fine, but why are you putting up _new_ stuff, like this… whatever it is,” Sandor pointed to some weird decoration Sansa had picked up during a shopping trip Hobby Lobby – an experience Sandor was trying to erase from his memory.

“That’s an owl dressed as a pilgrim,” she offered by way of answer.

“What the fuck do owls have to do with Thanksgiving?”

“They don’t, but they’re cute. I also have a turkey dressed as a Native American.”

“Well that’s just sick… didn’t the turkeys get eaten by the pilgrims and Indians? You need to add insult to injury by dressing them up as their captors?”

“Oh hush up, just bring all this to the garage, and bring out the leaf garland.”

Sandor hated that he knew what she was referring to, mumbling profanities to himself as he stomped to the garage. When he returned back with a heinous amount of orange and gold leaf garland Sansa was positioning her army of animals dressed as either pilgrim or Indian on the porch steps.

“Alright, start wrapping that around the railing,” she instructed, “you do a good job I’ll make you some hot cider with a cinnamon stick later.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not sure you understand the concept of bribery.”

“It’ll have whiskey in it,” she added proudly.

“You’re getting closer but, see, I can have all the whiskey and cider I want, whenever I want, because I’m a grown-up.”

“If you spent less time talking and more time helping, we’d be done sooner.”

“Don’t know why it’s such a bloody rush,” he mumbled as he began wrapping the railing.

Sansa stopped what she was doing and put her hands on her hips authoritatively, “I told you, I want it to be festive and inviting when Jaime gets home tomorrow.”

“Ah yes, his day won’t be complete unless he sees leaves and turkeys and gourds on every surface. You know, used to be when Lannister went out of town, we spent the entire time fucking on every surface in the house…”

“Are you complaining?”

“Yes! Obviously! Haven’t you been listening?!”

Sansa sighed, “We had shower sex this morning. We had sex on the den floor last night, and I seem to recall being assaulted at the bathroom sink while brushing my teeth the night before that. Your argument is weak.”

“Fine, but tonight we’re doing it on that padded bench you bought at Home Goods.”

“I knew it!” she pointed at Sandor accusingly.

“What?”

“I saw you eyeballing that thing, and you didn’t grumble about having to carry it to the car. You were thinking about fucking me on it from the moment I picked it out, weren’t you?”

Sandor shook his head but knew he’d been caught, “Alright fine, it just so happens to look like the perfect height for you to kneel on and I can stand behind you. Can you blame me? I need to find something to entertain myself when you spend two hours in that fucking place.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Fine, do a good job and we can fuck on the cushioned bench.

“Now _that’s_ a bribe!”

He did a very good job…

…but unfortunately, his earnest effort was wasted, when an unknown car pulled into the driveway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh... who could that be? Warning that we might have a couple chapters of drama, but (spoiler alert) our favorite trio will come out closer and stronger. 
> 
> Or I will get distracted and write smut for a few chapters and ya'll will be wondering where the aforementioned drama is... lol.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and commenting. I'm glad to see so many people are invested in these characters!


	35. Pierogis and the Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears? Check. Laughter? Check. Bromance? Check.

In the months since he and Sansa married, Jaime had come to relish the moment he got home – whether after a long day at the office or a stressful trip out of town, coming home to be greeted by Sansa’s warm smile or even Sandor’s grunted greeting always managed to take a weight off. Today’s homecoming would be particularly enjoyable since it was the start of the weekend. His plane landed at 11 am and rather than going to the office he decided to head home and make it a three-day weekend. Well, he’d put a long day in on Sunday, but he’d still have the better part of Friday and Saturday to unwind.

But something was decidedly _off_ when he got home and no one responded to his call of _“Honeys, I’m home.”_

After searching the house he found Sansa and Sandor on the veranda. Sansa was bundled up in a sweatshirt and smoking, eyes staring unfocused at the cigarette in her hand. When he slid the door open, she turned to greet him, forcing a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. Sandor cast him a glare that contained a warning.

“Everything alright?” Jaime asked, trying to sound casual.

Sansa nodded but it was unconvincing. Sandor waited but when she didn’t talk, he did, “Sansa’s brothers and sister stopped by yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh… friendly visit?” when neither laughed he cleared his throat, “Sorry… you want to talk about it?”

Sansa chewed a fingernail anxiously then stood abruptly, “I need a drink,” she mumbled before walking right past Jaime into the house.

Jaime teetered on his feet, arms crossed over his chest, “I’ll take that as a ‘no’…”

Sandor sighed, “It’s not you. She just had a rough night. Lots of crying. Actually didn’t get out of bed until, like, an hour ago.”

“Yikes… that’s not like her.”

Sandor nodded.

“So what happened?”

Sandor ran a hand through his hair; Jaime recognized the gesture as something he did when uncomfortable, “Her younger siblings came here – Sansa and I were outside setting up fall decorations when they pulled into the driveway. Her brothers – Bran and Rick – they seemed awkward but nice enough. Her sister Arya on the other hand…”

“So she came just to start trouble?”

“Not at first. They came to ‘mend fences’ as Bran put it. Said with the holidays coming up it would mean a lot to their mom and dad if Sansa and they were on better terms. Sansa pointed out that she has texted her parents numerous times, even called, but that she barely gets any responses. She said, in so many words, the ball is in their court.”

Jaime pursed his lips, “Yeah, makes sense.”

“Right. Then Arya asked who I was, and Sansa told her that I work for you guys – driver, security, odd jobs, and Arya got all self-righteous. Saying I was Sansa’s babysitter and Jaime just didn’t want her to have any freedom – that she was a kept woman. I can’t even remember half the shit she said. Gods, she talks even faster than Sansa does. I just remember when she said “let me guess… you have eyes on you reporting back to Jaime around the clock, but he spends every night “working late”” – actually used air quotes like it wasn’t obvious what she meant. Sansa defended you, and said I was also a friend of both you guys… was really standing up to her sister even though I could see tears in her eyes.”

“Gods, poor San…”

Sandor nodded, “Her brother Rick tried to calm things down and switch gears. Told her their dad is a wreck; totally wracked with guilt, has lost weight, is unfocused, yada yada…”

“Ah, so they came for _his_ benefit, not Sansa’s…”

“Right. But of course she’s worried about her dad, but Arya made it sound like she would know all this if she ever came around. Pretty much piled all the blame on Sansa.”

“Wow, and I thought _my_ sister was a bitch.”

Sandor snorted, “Between you and me and Sansa we can form a support group for people with shitty siblings.”

Jaime blanched; Sandor never spoke about his brother; rarely even eluded to him.

He decided to keep the conversation focused on Sansa, “So what happened then?”

“Sansa was upset, obviously, but tried to stand up for herself, saying how anytime she emails or texts to see how everyone is doing she gets the same one-word response: ‘fine’. She told Arya she has tried to reach out to all of them individually and collectively and they make it clear they don’t want to see her. She thought they needed space and time and that they’d come around eventually.”

“Yeah, who can argue with that logic?”

“Arya Stark, apparently. Said she’d never come around to Sansa selling herself to, and I quote, “the monster otherwise known as Tywin Lannister and his equally wretched spawn.””

“Ouch… though my father would likely take it as a compliment…” Jaime was worried to ask what was on his mind throughout Sandor’s retelling of events but decided he needed to know where he stood with his wife, “So… does Sansa blame me for putting her in this position?”

Sandor’s eyes widened with surprise, “Not at all! Dude, she was defending you, even after they left. She was mad that they don’t see how happy she is with her life… She just hates that there is this rift, and that her dad seems to be suffering. She thought about inviting him over here to see you guys in your element, but she’s worried he’ll think it’s an act.”

“Why?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “You guys kind of are a little _too_ perfect together. Always hugging, always finishing each other’s thoughts. The friendly teasing… it’s sickening to be honest.”

Jaime chuckled, “I could say the same thing about you two. Though I actually don’t mind. I guess I’ve always been a bit of a romantic.”

“Yeah,” Sandor snorted, “and what’s more romantic than watching your wife with her boyfriend?”

“Hey, I said I’m a romantic; I never claimed to be normal… or sane.”

“Then you’re in good company.”

The men were sharing a laugh when Sansa came back out, looking between them with suspicion. She plopped next to Sandor and lit a cigarette, “What are you girls giggling over?” she asked, each word punctuated by a stream of bluish gray smoke as she exhaled.

“Just how weird we are,” Jaime answered honestly.

“Just realizing that?” Sansa answered with an eyebrow lifted.

“Well you seem to be in a better mood.”

“Yeah, I was about to make a drink but decided it’s more of a Xanax kind of day… so I take it Sandor filled you in on the Stark family drama? It’s official, I’m the black sheep.”

Jaime crossed the space between them to sit on her right, taking her hand, “I know it sucks San, and I’m so sorry for my part in all this, but I also want you to know I’m proud of how you stood up for yourself… and for us. I wish I had a bit of your backbone.”

“Yeah, and I wish I had a bit of your golden child syndrome.”

Jaime threw his head back, “Trust me, it’s not as fun as it looks…”

Sandor and Sansa turned to him with matching expressions of skepticism.

“I’m serious!” Jaime pivoted to face them, “Living in my dad’s shadow… Losing my relationship with my brother and best friend because _he_ was cast out as the black sheep… being powerless to say ‘no’ to my father – to this life he chose for me and designed down to the last _detail,_ this political campaign I don’t even care about—” the words fell out before he could stop them, but now that he’d voiced them aloud they rang so true he could no longer deny it.

Sansa leaned forward and clutched his shoulder, “Jaime…”

He rubbed his forehead, “It’s fine… sorry, San, I wasn’t trying to make this about me…”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, “Shut up.”

He laughed while nodding at Sandor around her neck. Sandor cast him a sad, sympathetic smile before clasping his forearm where it rested on Sansa’s shoulder. It was the most compassionate gesture he’d ever seen the man make toward anyone other than Sansa, and it warmed Jaime’s heart.

Sansa eventually ended the embrace, “Jaime, what are you going to do?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“But you can’t do it if it doesn’t make you happy!”

Jaime snorted, “I’m not familiar with that concept, can you explain it to me?”

She swatted his arm, “I’m serious, Jaime.”

“I don’t fucking know, San, I really don’t.”

Just then Nate walked through, “Hey, kitten, how you feeling?”

Sandor addressed Jaime, “She called him last night to talk. He said he had a half day today and would stop by.”

Sansa had jumped up to pull Nate over by the hand, “Forget about my problems; Jaime is having a crisis!”

“San, jeez…”

“Shush Jaime…” Sansa filled Nate in on Jaime’s confession. Nate looked at him with a sympathetic but unsurprised expression.

“So what are you going to do, Jaims?” Nate asked. The four of them were now squished together on the rattan settee.

“I don’t fucking know. Any suggestions?”

Surprisingly it was Sandor who piped up, “You got your own money, Lannister, not living off of daddy’s?”

Jaime grit his teeth, “Yes I have my own money. My own investments. I own my house, my cars. I work for my dad’s company, but I earn my salary, _believe_ me.”

“Then you don’t need to live under his thumb. What the fuck do you have to worry about? Drop the campaign before it’s too late – we’re a year away from the election which means the campaign would really heat up after the holidays, right?”

“Right.”

“So you have between now and New Year’s to break the news to your dad. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Well, he can fire me from the job I love, out of spite.”

Nate interrupted, “A job you’re great at. _Any_ company would love to have you running marketing or PR. Hell, I do work for most of those companies, with my connections and your pedigree you wouldn’t be unemployed more than a week.”

Sansa smiled mischievously, “And I can get a job if need be; I see Jax is hiring…”

All the guys chuckled. Jax was a nearby upscale gentleman’s club. One night, Sansa drunk-confessed that she always wondered if she’d be able to slide down a stripper pole, suggesting it was harder than it looked and was probably a good workout. They spent the rest of the night coming up with names for her stripper alter-ego, mostly in reference to her red hair – Cinnamon, Phoenix, Big Red.

Sandor lifted his brow, “I thought I had my fill of strip clubs working for Joffrey, but _that_ is something that would get me back in the door…”

Nate laughed, “And if that doesn’t work out, I told you you have a promising future in nude modeling.”

Sansa turned beet red. Jaime felt himself scowl, “Didn’t know this was a career path you were considering, _wife…”_

She patted his shoulder, “I’m not. Your _boyfriend_ wants to draw me. God, who new gay guys were so obsessed with tits?”

Jaime made a point of staring at her chest even though it was hidden beneath layers of fall clothes, “I have no idea what you mean.”

“AN-Y-WAY…” Sansa sighed, “Back to the matter at hand… what’s the verdict Jaime? You know I support whatever you decide.”

Jaime was genuinely touched by her sincerity, “Thanks, San. I think I just need time to think it through before I make any decisions. Sandor’s right, I have a bit of a deadline, but it’s not here yet. We have Thanksgiving coming up at Cersei’s and I definitely won’t do anything before then. It’s going to be bad enough listening to Robert and Cersei insult each other all night without earning my dad’s wrath, to boot.”

Sansa nodded, “Okay, but please don’t think you need to make this decision alone. Talk to us, ok?”

Jaime’s heart swelled looking at his friend and lovers. He was dangerously close to pulling them into a group hug when Nate’s phone rang. They all tried not to eavesdrop, but it was impossible.

_“Hey Chrissy, what’s up?”_

_…_

_“You do?!”_

_…_

_“Are you fucking with me?”_

_…_

_“Oh my god, of course.”_

_…_

_“ **Tonight?** Well, yeah… I mean, yes, **definitely**!”_

_…_

_“Alright, I’ll stop by your place at three. Awesome. Thanks so much!!”_

Nate was stomping his feet excitedly, clasping his smartphone like it was dear to his heart. He walked to stand directly in front of Sansa who looked perplexed.

“Springsteen. Garden. Tonight. You in or out, kitten?!”

Her eyes widened as her brain processed his words, then she flung herself into Nate’s arms. A man of slighter stature would have fallen on his ass.

“Ahhhh!!!” she screamed as Nate spun them around. She slid to her feet and they held hands while jumping up and down.

“Oh my god, Nate! Holy crap!”

“I know!!”

Jaime turned to Sandor, “Should I be insulted that he didn’t invite me instead?”

“Probably,” Sandor nodded.

He turned back to the excited pair, now swinging each other around the patio like children on a playground.

“Oh my God, Nate! If he does _Born to Run,_ I am going to cream my pants!”

“You and me both, sista!”

“Ahhh!!” they screamed in unison.

Suddenly Sansa’s face got serious, “Wait, what am I going to _wear_? How close are our seats?”

“Really close! My friend Chrissy bought the tickets a while ago to impress this client who’s a huge Springsteen fan, but he cancelled last minute. She’s not a big fan so she offered me both tickets. They are PRIME!!”

“Holy shit, you’ve got to help me pick out an outfit. If Bruce looks at me, I need to look hot… but not desperate hot, like, _classy_ hot – ya know?”

“Oh – _I know!_ ”

Jaime and Sandor sat back chuckling before Jaime mumbled, “I think we have some competition.”

“Not a competition, dude. If it’s us or Bruce, she’s picking Bruce.”

Though she was oblivious to their conversation Sansa suddenly turned to them both, kneeling on the ground before them with hands clasped, “Ok, so I know this is _never_ going to happen, but in the remote chance that Bruce’s tour manager invites us back stage, and one thing leads to another, and, ya know…”

Sandor threw his head back, “You want to use your ‘free pass’ on Bruce Springsteen? You know he’s like seventy? Might not even be able to get it up anymore.”

Sansa appeared to be seriously considering his words, “Yeah, you’re right… I’ll stick with Tom Hardy, there’s no way _that_ guy can’t get it up. Thanks for talking some sense into me babe.”

“Glad to help make sure your act of infidelity is sexually gratifying.”

She rolled her eyes before turning serious again, “Oh, but I told you I’d help you make homemade pierogis tonight!”

He pressed his lips together as if deep in thought, then lifted his hands up and down as if weighing two options, “Hmm… the Boss at the Garden, or pierogis at home… tough one.”

“But I was looking forward to it,” Sansa blushed, “remember, all that kneading, stuffing, and pinching,” she bit her lip suggestively, earning a healthy laugh from Jaime and Nate.

Sandor himself blushed at her crude words, “Sorry, I gotta make ‘em without you, then – already made the dough and filling this morning while you were sleeping.”

Sansa pouted but Jaime thought he might be able to help, “As it happens, I’m free tonight, since apparently my wife and lover have made plans without me…”

Sandor looked at him suspiciously before softening his expression, “Whatever, but there will be no stuffing of _anything_ other than pierogis,” he spoke with a warning.

Sansa and Nate ran off eagerly to pick out her outfit while Sandor headed into the kitchen for a snack. Jaime sat alone on the veranda, laughing about how strange his life was, and how he wouldn’t want it any other way.

\------------------------------------

_Well, this is officially the gayest thing I’ve ever done._

Sandor and Jaime had a mini assembly line set up on the large kitchen island. Sandor rolled out and cut the dough, then Jaime filled each piece and pinched them closed. Some he filled with traditional potato and cheddar, in others he added fresh chives, and in a few he added a several drops of hot sauce.

Jaime was rambling on about whatever thoughts popped into his head, occasionally wiping his fingers on his blue apron – yes, the man wore an apron – to take a sip of Cabernet.

“I mean, if I stick with the campaign, I’ll be at it full-time come January; which means they’ll need to find someone to take my place at Casterly on an interim basis, and permanently if I’m elected…”

“Mmhmm,” Sandor offered, though it seemed Jaime didn’t need his input.

“…but I love my job. And I like working for the family business, crazy as that sounds…”

“Yeah.”

“…but what Oberyn said makes sense. I’ve justified this _campaign_ thinking I can do some good. Make up for some of the damage Lannister greed has done over the years. But it takes so long to effect change, ya know?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I dunno, man. My father wants this so much. Maybe I should do it just to make him happy…”

Sandor snorted derisively, “That’s the wrong fucking reason… those ready to go in?” he nodded toward the tray of pierogis in front of Jaime.

“Oh, yeah. I got it.” Jaime dropped the pierogis into the boiling water on the stove then returned to his stool, “And what about Sansa?”

Sandor looked up, “What about her?”

“I mean all this… this _arrangement_ … a big part of it was so her father and his influential friends would support me. If I don’t run, isn’t it like it was all for naught?”

Sandor took a break, knowing Jaime was really struggling. He sipped his wine and sighed, “It wasn’t just for the election. Your dad bailed out her dad, taking an ownership interest in the Stark’s company, right? Sansa told me way back that your marriage was part of that deal. Your dad can’t interfere too much with Stark’s business without risking Sansa taking a pair of kitchen shears to your junk.”

Jaime chuckled, “Sounds like something she’d say… but you’re forgetting that she was also supposed to be insurance for team Lannister – make sure her father supports my campaign so I don’t go all Chris Brown on his daughter. But without the campaign…”

“The Starks have all the leverage.”

Jaime winced, “My dad’s not gonna like that.”

“Doesn’t matter if he likes it. It’s your fucking life, your career, your marriage.”

Jaime looked pensive, “Will I even have a marriage?”

“Huh?”

Jaime shrugged, idly folding pierogis to distract himself, “If I start pulling the threads that tied this all together to begin with…”

Sandor scooped out the cooked pierogis and transferred them to a casserole dish, but only to give himself time to ponder Jaime’s question. Would Sansa welcome a way out of all this if it presented itself? Sandor knew she cared about Jaime and seemed more than happy with their life, but would she want out? Would she want something more traditional? And if so, would she want that from him? The idea was equal parts exciting and frightening.

“Dude, say something, please!” Jaime begged.

“Sorry, just…” Sandor exhaled and gave an honest answer, “I can’t speak for her, but you guys seem really _right_ together. I think she likes being your wife, even in this unorthodox way. Besides, your father still controls her family’s business.”

“The family that just came here and made her feel like shit yesterday?”

“She still loves them, man. She’s too bloody sweet and caring and good-hearted and—”

“And fucking perfect.”

“Yeah. Wait, what?”

Jaime chuckled, “Don’t worry, I just mean, she’s fucking perfect, isn’t she? In a totally imperfect way. Like these totally contradictory traits that come together and balance out. She’s shy, but she’s bold. She’s insecure and yet confident.”

“Confident but not arrogant,” Sandor added.

Jaime smiled, “Passionate but not too intense.”

Sandor nodded, “Yeah, I love how she’s equally passionate about the price of cigarettes as she is about environmental sustainability. Gods forbid we forget the reusable bags when we go to the grocery store, she looks like she’s going to cry every time the cashier hands her a plastic bag. I’m surprised she doesn’t make me tote every item out in my arms.”

“I know, right? She really is a walking paradox. She cringes when I bring her home a $20 bouquet of flowers that ‘will be dead in a week’, but then spends $300 on Halloween decorations. It should seem hypocritical, but—”

“It doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Jaime smiled wistfully, but the sight made Sandor panic.

“Wait, Lannister – are you…”

“Am I what?”

“Fuck… are you, like, _in love_ with Sansa?”

Jaime laughed as if the idea was preposterous, “Honestly, I don’t know what you’d call it. It’s like she’s my best friend, but when we’re _together_ … sorry, you don’t want to hear about it…”

Sandor didn’t want to, but he needed to, and he told Jaime as much.

“Well, we have chemistry, I guess. I almost feel like if we met in a normal way, not thrust together artificially, we’d end up as friends… with benefits.”

“And nothing more?”

“I mean, barring other alternatives, we might take a go at a relationship, but I don’t think it would ever be like…”

“Like what?”

“Like what you and she have.”

Sandor internally celebrated, “How do you know?”

“When I come home, she smiles. She’s genuinely happy to see me, like a puppy when its owner comes home. But when you walk in the room… it’s like she radiates from the inside.”

His words were touching, but Sandor suddenly felt all his insecurities rising to the surface, “Why?”

Jaime shrugged, “Cause she loves you… I should say she’s _in love_ with you…”

“Yeah, but _why?_ I mean, look at me. I’m grouchy, I’m a homebody, and in case you hadn’t noticed I’m kind of fucked up in the looks department, especially when standing next to you and your mocha latte boyfriend.”

Jaime laughed, “So you know, I’m telling Nate you said that.”

“Fine, but answer me first.”

“You’re not grouchy, you’re reserved. You’re not a homebody, you’re laid back. And Sandor, you may have scars, but they don’t make you less attractive…”

Sandor instinctively turned away, but Jaime stopped him, “Listen – I’ll admit they are a bit jarring at first, but now that I know you, they just add character. Like they’re the reason you’re this tough, no nonsense, no bullshit motherfucker. You’re a good-looking guy, and I’m confident enough in my sexuality to admit that,” Jaime smirked.

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Fine, but that makes her love me? That I’m reserved and laid back and good-looking?”

“Maybe love isn’t defined that way. Maybe it’s just _there_ for some people. Like an instant reaction. Love at first sight. I saw the way you were together a couple weeks after meeting each other; now tell me that it even took two weeks of living together to get to that point.”

Sandor snorted, “No, I think for me it took two seconds.”

“See? Don’t question it, just be thankful you’ve found your other half.”

“What about you? Is Nate your other half?”

Jaime blew a hair out of his eye, “Honestly, I think I shut myself off from the L-word for so long my brain can’t even think in those terms. But… well, I’d step in front of a bullet for him, does that count?”

“Wouldn’t you step in front of a bullet for Sansa?”

Jaime smirked, “Good point… Well how about this – if Nate and Sansa were hanging off a ledge and I could only save one of them… oh God, this is like a nightmare, why did I even say it?”

Sandor shook his head, “You’d save Nate.”

Jaime blushed, “But in fairness, if you and I were dangling off a ledge and Sansa could only save one of us, she’d choose you.”

Sandor sat back and smiled, knowing it looked inappropriate for the suddenly morbid conversation, “She would… but I’d let go so she wouldn’t have to.”

“Wow,” Jaime took a deep sip of wine, “If that’s not true love, man, I don’t know what is…”

Sandor gave him an understanding pat on the back, “Don’t feel bad, I’m sure Nate would do the same thing, even if only to be able to lord it over you and Sansa when you all reunite in the afterlife.”

Jaime grinned widely, “You know him so well.”

\--------------------------------------

Sansa and Nate stumbled into the house belting out _Tenth Avenue Freeze Out_ and were instantly greeted by the mouth-watering aroma of sautéed onions and butter.

“Mmm,” Sansa moaned as she lifted the foil off the casserole dish before digging in.

“Where are our men?” Nate asked through a mouthful of pierogi.

Sansa looked to the oven clock, “It’s 12:30, they probably went to bed.”

“Together?” Nate asked mischievously.

“Man, Bruce really does get you hot, doesn’t he?”

“Oh please, I was waiting for you to throw your panties on stage.”

Sansa lifted her chin defiantly, “I happen to be a lady.”

“ _Riiiight_ … a lady who’s been fantasizing about having a threesome with Sandor and Michael Fassbender for the past two months…”

“Bitch, I’m never telling you anything again.”

“Yes you will, because you’ve got no one else to confess all your dirty secrets to.”

“Yeah, well you’re not the only one who’s got dirt on me… I seem to recall a rather embarrassing tale about hooking up with your high school girlfriend’s brother.”

“Honey, if you saw him, you’d know there was nothing _embarrassing_ about it…”

Sansa laughed, “Come on, let’s go find our men.”

Only a quick inspection of the bedrooms found them all unoccupied. Nate and Sansa exchanged a curious look before trotting downstairs to the den.

“Awwww!!!!” Sansa squealed.

“They’re like little angels!” Nate added sarcastically. Sandor and Jaime were asleep on opposite ends of the couch while the muted TV played late-night infomercials.

“It would be a crime to wake them,” Sansa said.

“Yeah…”

 _“TENTH AVENUE FREEZE OUT!”_ Sansa and Nate belted out in chorus.

Sandor jumped from the couch already in fight mode, while Jaime flipped them the bird without lifting his head off the throw pillow.

Sansa walked over to hug Sandor, “You can stand down, Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band haven’t broken into the house.”

“No, just a pair of whack jobs. I think I should call the police.”

Sansa chuckled while wiping flour off his beard, to which he scowled at Jaime, “I’ve had that on my face all night, Lannister?”

“Yup,” Jaime answered without shame, “you also have potato on your shirt.”

Sandor looked down and scoffed.

“I told you to wear an apron,” Jaime chided.

“Whatever. Real men don’t wear aprons to cook, they wear old T-shirts… the same as for painting the house, mowing the grass… oh wait, you wouldn’t know…”

“Hey, I bring home the bacon, you keep the house.”

“Well what do I do?” Sansa asked, feeling mildly insulted and very useless.

“You fill our home with laughter and cheer!” Jaime offered reassuringly.

“Great, so I can be replaced by a puppy.”

Jaime laughed, “So how was the concert, either of you get to play groupie for the night?”

“It was awesome!” Sansa gushed, “And _no_. I’d ask how the pierogi-making went but we already know. They’re delicious! And the kitchen’s so clean, like little pierogi fairies brought them.”

“Yeah,” Sandor grumbled, “I _felt_ like a fairy making them with Suzy Homemaker over here.”

Jaime feigned insult while Nate kissed his frown, “I think you look sexy in an apron.”

Sandor grunted, “Good, then next time you and Jaime can stay here and cook while Sansa and I go to see a rock icon.”

Nate arched a brow, “Jealous?”

“Little bit, yeah,” Sandor answered bluntly.

“Well in that case,” Sansa installed herself on his lap, “As it happens, we saw signs for KISS coming to the Garden in February, and Nate and I were thinking—”

“I am _not_ dressing up as the members of KISS with you guys.”

“Oh come on, Sandor!” she pouted, “We’ll let you be Gene Simmons!”

“Gee, really?! Let me think about that… _uh-no._ ”

“That’s it,” Sansa rose and crossed her arms, “I challenge you to a pierogi-eating contest… _tomorrow._ ”

Jaime and Nate gasped in unison. Sandor rose, eyes narrowed and serious, “The stakes?”

“If I win, we all go to the KISS concert dressed and made up as the band. You _will_ be Gene Simmons, and you _will_ do the tongue thing for at least one group photo.”

Jaime and Nate clutched hands in an exaggerated display of suspense.

“And if I win?”

“You won’t.”

“But if I do?”

“Name your terms.”

Sandor paced the room deep in thought before a menacing grin split his features, “ _You_ wear a skimpy maid costume around the house for a whole day – one that _I_ pick out…”

“That’s not a punishment—”

“… and you _clean!”_ Sandor pointed his finger as if throwing an accusation, “And I mean _scrub_. On your hands and knees, cleaning the floor, the shoe-molding, the tubs... Even get up on a ladder on dust the ceiling fans.”

“You wouldn’t!” she gasped.

“I _would.._. And you’ll do anything else I ask of you.”

“Question,” Jaime raised his hand, “can I be there for this?”

Sandor snapped his fingers and pointed at Jaime in one fluid motion without taking his eyes off Sansa, “Yes you can.”

“Sandor!” she scolded.

“What do you care, sweetheart, you already said you’re going to win… or are you… _chicken?”_

Nate rushed to Sansa’s side, “I need a moment to consult with my client.”

Sandor nodded, “I’ll allow it.”

Nate put his hands on her shoulders, “You can do this, kitten. I once watched you polish off two dozen chicken wings after splitting a platter of loaded nachos with Jaime.”

“I don’t know, he can eat a lot, too, and he’s so much bigger than me!”

“It’s all in the mind, Sansa. Just think about it; _picture_ it: you as Catman, me as Starchild, Jaime as Space Man—”

“Hey, I want to be Starchild,” Jaime pouted.

“Shut up, Jaime… and Sandor as the Demon. The studded sleeves, the open shirt. The _hair._ ”

Sansa inhaled through her teeth and clasped her hands together in front of her chin, “Alright!”

Sandor held out his hand, which she squeezed as firmly as possible as an intimidation tactic.

“Better save that fight for tomorrow, girly, you’re gonna need it.”

“You can’t scare us!” Nate spit out brashly. “Now go to bed, kitten. You need your energy for tomorrow, and remember, no sex before the big game.” He eyed Sandor threateningly.

Sandor shrugged, “Time for me to turn in, too.” He lifted his shirt off his shoulders, “Think I’ll just toss this in the laundry room, it’s got potato on it.” He sauntered past Sansa, eyes dark and body bangin’, “Tomorrow. Kitchen. High noon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not at the edge of your seats for the outcome of this pierogi eating competition, then I have failed as an amateur author. LOL.
> 
> And is it just me or is that the Sanjaimsa train approaching from the distance? If you squint you can see it... it's coming, slowly but surely... it's coming...


	36. Trouble in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fun, some angst.

Sansa and Sandor sat at the island at noon on the dot, eyes locked across the table. Jaime was almost sad to see the pierogis consumed for such a purpose after he and Sandor spent hours making them. They’d frozen most of the batches to have for future use but had to defrost and cook them this morning.

In between Sansa and Sandor sat a pile of fifty lovingly prepared pierogis. Jaime stood on Sandor’s side to keep count and cheer him on, while Nate stood with Sansa. Though this competition had divided them, they had enjoyed a _very_ pleasant night after Jaime surprised Nate with a kinky new toy he’d filched from Sunspear. He winked at Nate across the table, but Nate was all business, heavily invested in the outcome, whereas for Jaime the entire thing was a win-win.

Jaime stood up straight and cleared his voice, “Alright, at my signal I will start the stopwatch. At that point you will have four minutes to eat as many pierogis as possible. Nate will count for Sansa; I will count for Sandor. If someone vomits, they forfeit. Do you have any questions?”

Sansa and Sandor shook their heads.

“Are you ready?”

They nodded.

“On three: One… Two… THREE!”

They tore into the pierogis like a pair of hyenas, cramming them whole into their mouths and barely chewing before swallowing. In the first thirty seconds they’d devoured four apiece, though both slowed after that, only managing seven each in the first minute. They kept a similar pace through the second minute. By the halfway point Sandor was ahead by one pierogi but neither was losing momentum. Jaime was actually biting his fingernails while Nate cheered Sansa on like a dance mom, repeating descriptions of how awesome their group KISS look was going to be, and, to Jaime’s chagrin, finding raunchy suggestions for what she could do to Sandor while he was all decked out as the Demon. It was a disservice at one point when he made her laugh out a spray of pierogi. Sandor barely seemed to notice it – or Sansa, Nate and Jaime’s laughter. The dude was in the zone with a dedication and intensity that would have been admirable if a more noble cause than friend-humiliation was on the line.

They were neck-and-neck when Jaime called out that they were in the final minute. Both had broken a sweat and were chewing with less vigor. Sandor still had a one pierogi lead when Sansa crammed two into her mouth at once, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. Sandor followed her lead, earning a scowl from Sansa until suddenly her face got fire engine red and she began fanning her mouth. “Ott!” she cried out around half-chewed potato.

Jaime winced, “Oh yeah, we put some of that _Scorned Woman_ hot sauce in some of the pierogis for Sandor and Bronn… seems kind of ironic now.”

“Hut duh huck andor?!”

“Uh had unn doo!” he retorted after cramming another pierogi into his mouth.

Sansa forced hers down with an audible gulp then soldiered on, managing to eat two more pierogis before time was up, but it was too late. Sandor won with 24 to her 22 and stood up to do a victory dance before clutching his stomach, and sitting back down, “Uhh… don’t think I’ll be moving for the next few hours.”

Sansa downed some water before reaching across the table and shoving him in the shoulder, “What the fuck, Sandor?” she repeated her previous inaudible question, “You know I can’t do hot!”

“Sorry, I honestly forgot. I got one of the hot ones too, so you know. It doesn’t matter though – I would have won anyway… unless you demand a rematch…”

“Yes!” Nate exclaimed.

“Gods, no!” Sansa cradled her belly, “I’ll scrub the floors of a gas station bathroom naked before I ever eat another pierogi!”

“Well I was impressed by both of you,” Jaime offered supportively.

“Shut up,” they answered in harmony.

Jaime wiggled his eyebrows, “So Sandor, there is this huge “adult bookstore” in West Nyack. They have an impressive _clothing_ department.”

Sandor groaned and Sansa whimpered, “I accept my fate, but I am not squeezing into anything even remotely ‘skimpy’ for at _least_ a few days.”

Sandor groaned again, “I can’t even _look_ at anything skimpy for a few days. It will remind me of sex, which will remind me of movement.”

Jaime shrugged and turned to Nate, “Wanna grab lunch?”

_“SHUT UP!”_

\---------------------------------

Jaime returned from a casual lunch with Nate and a quick stop by Cersei’s place to find Sansa and Sandor in the den, still suffering from carbohydrate-poisoning but in much better spirits. Sansa was flicking through TV channels while Sandor was scrolling through sexy maid outfits on his phone, his other arm draped over Sansa’s shoulders. Jaime watched from the stairwell for a moment as Sandor teased, “Waddaya think babe – crotchless panties or thong underneath the skirt?”

Jaime chuckled to announce his presence then made his way over to join them on the sofa, “How are my patients?”

“Well, my belly literally looks like a blob of pierogi dough, but otherwise I’m good… you’re on your own for dinner tonight, though.”

“No matter, I had a big lunch – tuna melt with fries.”

Sandor groaned, “Too soon, Lannister… too soon.”

“So I guess I shouldn’t talk about Cersei’s Thanksgiving menu?”

“Unnnggghhh!!!” Sansa moaned.

Jaime chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ll leave out the culinary details. Dinner will be served at 5 pm, that’s all you really need to know.”

“What should I bring? Desserts? Ugh… never mind, tell me later…”

“Nah, Cersei will have it catered.”

“What?!” Sansa looked aghast.

“Cooking would mean the risk of breaking a nail or getting some type of animal fat on her fingers. Cersei won’t risk that.”

“But don’t they have a live-in cook… you know, like Sandor?” she winked.

Jaime chuckled, “They do, but they give him off on Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“But… well… then why don’t _we_ host it _here_? I love cooking for Thanksgiving!”

“Uhh, that’s a good way to get on Cersei’s bad side—”

“Your sister has a _good_ side?” Sandor mumbled.

“Yes, just don’t tell her I told you. Anyway, she enjoys hosting awkward family gatherings. Gives her an opportunity to berate her husband in front of an audience for a change. Plus she’s got the kids, they sometimes bring friends, it’s a whole thing…”

Sansa lifted her eyebrows, “Alright. Whatever. I’m too bloated to care.”

“There’s the spirt!” Jaime slapped her thigh, “I’m going to go work out for a bit, watching you eat all those pierogis made me feel fat.” He jumped away to avoid the inevitable smack.

To his surprise Sandor rose, “Mind company? My fat ass needs to move, or I’ll still be _digesting_ come Thanksgiving.”

“Hey! What about me?” Sansa called out as her men abandoned her.

Sandor leaned over the sofa, smacking her bottom with a crack, “I like your ass fat.”

\----------------------------------

_There isn’t enough wine in the world…_

Apparently, Jaime wasn’t exaggerating when he warned Sansa how Robert and Cersei would be. In fact, he may have understated things a bit.

The evening had started out well, with Cersei seemingly in a good mood made better when Sansa and Jaime’s contribution to the feast was a bottle Cersei’s favorite vodka with gold and orange ribbon tied around the neck. _“Ah, this is so much better than pumpkin pie,”_ Cersei spoke as she gave an air kiss to Sansa’s cheek. Sansa glanced at Jaime and tried not to blush as she remembered how she and Sandor devoured an entire pumpkin pie the night before. In their defense, they had eaten nothing but leafy greens for two full days after the pierogi contest.

After that Sansa, Cersei and Myrcella chatted in the sitting room while Jaime and Tywin disappeared somewhere to “talk shop”. Robert, Tommen, and Tommen’s college friend Michael watched a football game in the basement den, though Robert’s bellowing voice could be heard every time something good or bad happened for his team. Each time she heard him Cersei cringed, then tried to put on a happy face that Sansa suspected was purely for Myrcella’s benefit.

Sansa almost put her foot in her mouth due to her desperation to find topics for conversation. Cersei asked if she’d done anything interesting lately. Sansa jumped on the opportunity to talk about the Springsteen concert, but deflated when Cersei asked her who she went with.

_“Oh… it’s kind of a funny story… Jaime has this colleague and he is an artist, I guess he does work for Casterly… anyway I met him when Jaime suggested we commission a painting from him of my friend’s wedding venue. Turns out we both love Springsteen and Steve Winwood and… well, you get the idea. He had an extra ticket, so he invited me. It was really generous of him.”_

Cersei’s eyes narrowed for an instant, but Sansa caught it, _“Nate?”_

_“Uh, yeah… you know him?”_

_“We’ve met. Nice fellow. Easy on the eyes.”_ Cersei made what she probably hoped would be a smile. Sansa literally started sweating, wondering how much Cersei knew about Nate. If she didn’t know he was gay she’d wonder why a single, straight, male friend of Jaime’s took Sansa to a concert. If she did know he was a gay, she would wonder why Jaime had one of his ‘hookups’ hanging around his wife. Sansa knew Jaime had at some point told Cersei he was bi, or more accurately, 85% straight, 15% gay.

And now they sat at the world’s most awkward holiday dinner…

Tywin Michael Tommen

Robert Cersei

Jaime Sansa Myrcella

Robert and Cersei seemed intent on out drinking each other, which seemed a dangerous game since he had to be over 250 pounds of fat and muscle, and Cersei was 120 pounds of skin and bone.

When they weren’t outdrinking each other, they were verbally sparring. Cersei was by no means an innocent victim, but Robert’s insults seemed to hit too close to home and were _definitely_ not suitable to be said in front of Tommen, Michael and Myrcella. Though, Robert at least delivered them as jokes, and seemed to actually think he was being funny, whereas Cersei made it quite plain she meant every word.

When Sansa, trying to inject polite conversation, complimented the food, Robert guffawed, “Thank the Gods I’m rich enough to pay professionals; my wife couldn’t tell a turnip from a carrot if her life depended on it.”

“Well if it would mean never having to watch you eat again, husband, I’d gladly lose my life over my ignorance,” Cersei spit back instantly.

Then there was the great wine/liquor debate. Cersei chided Robert for drinking straight bourbon while everyone else was drinking white wine with dinner. Robert raised his glass in mock salute to his wife, “If they had to live with you, dear, they’d be drinking liquor, too.” He downed the liquid in one swig to emphasize his point.

It wasn’t that there was no other conversation. Michael and Tommen talked about school. Myrcella talked about potential career options (she’d be graduating in May) – to which Robert insisted she stop wasting her time and just come work for his business, Stag Inc. Sansa noticed Tywin’s green eyes flicker to Jaime at that moment, but neither spoke. At some points, Tywin and Jaime spoke about the campaign, though Jaime frequently tried to steer the conversation away from that topic, which wasn’t hard since Robert and Cersei’s war of words created frequent opportunity to introduce new subjects.

Sansa was thankful for only two things: 1) that Joffrey wasn’t there, and 2) that Jaime sat Sansa between himself and Myrcella, so she was buffered a bit from Robert and Cersei who sat at the heads of the table. 

Sansa’s mind drifted to how much more fun this would be if it were just her, Sandor, Nate, and Jaime at their house. A cozy, home-cooked meal. The fireplace lit, wearing jeans and a snuggly sweater instead of heels and a cocktail dress. Instead of anger there would be love. Instead of insults there would be laughter. Instead of—

“So, Sansa. I heard Olenna Tyrell was quite impressed by you.”

_Shit, Tywin’s talking to me. Wait, how does he know about our dinner with Olenna? Duh, Jaime must have told him at some point. They do work together, after all…_

Sansa realized she wasn’t responding and impulsively spit out the first response that came to mind, “Oh, yeah, but it’s not really saying much... She’s impressed by anyone without a penis.”

_Fuck!_

Robert slammed his fist down and threw his head back laughing wildly.

Sansa really needed to re-install a filter on her mouth; spending all her time with Sandor, Jaime, and Nate hers had withered from disuse. 

She blushed, and was about to apologize when she noticed Tywin’s mouth had curved into a very small smile. He looked about to say something when Robert interrupted him, “It takes a little more than _that_ to charm the old Queen of Thorns, girl, or else she wouldn’t hate Cersei so much!”

Sansa felt bad for inadvertently bringing Cersei back into Robert’s crosshairs, so she tried to throw her a life raft, “Oh I think that’s only because Cersei and Olenna are very similar people. Both strong, independent women—”

 _“Independent?!”_ Robert hooted. “Cersei spent the first half of her life living off her daddy’s money, the second half living off her husband’s money.”

Sansa felt her cheeks redden again, this time with anger, “Well perhaps not financially independent, but _mentally_ independent… free thinking. Plus, Cersei doesn’t take shit from anyone, and I happen to admire that, just as I admire it in Olenna Tyrell.” Sansa punctuated her speech with a deep sip of wine, Gods knew she needed it.

Her eyes landed on Jaime who was smiling at her proudly until Robert elbowed him jovially but roughly in the ribs, “Guess I know who wears the pants in your house! Hah!”

Jaime forced a smile, “Uh, back atcha, Robert.”

Where the conversation ventured next Sansa would never have imagined in a hundred years…

“Eh, don’t feel bad, Jaime,” Robert clutched his shoulder with a meaty paw, “if a woman looks like _that_ , she can wear the pants all she wants, am I right?”

Jaime clearly was at a loss, but Myrcella surprisingly stepped in, “Dad! That’s your sister-in-law and she’s young enough to be your daughter,” Myrcella curled her lips in disgust, “so could ya _not_?”

“So? She’s not _my_ daughter. You know I’m just joking, don’t you sweetheart?”

Sansa grinned through gritted teeth, “Obviously, since _joking_ seems to be all you do…” she took a sip of wine and mumbled into her glass, “and _drinking_ …”

Cersei cackled, “Dear sister-in-law, you’re forgetting about eating and scratching his ass.”

Robert rolled his eyes, “Have your fun, _ladies;_ unlike you I can take a joke.” Sansa had to begrudgingly admit he could do that.

Sansa took a deep breath to contain her uneasiness, glancing over at Tommen and his friend. The former looked mortified, the latter looked shocked. Sansa was about to try to make conversation with them – they were of an age with her youngest brother and she knew they undoubtedly were interested in either football, cars, or coding. Before she could open her mouth Robert, spoke up again, “So, Sansa, how’s your dad?”

Sansa had to remind herself that Robert and her dad were once good friends, having gone to college together. But apparently her father outgrew the frat parties, and Robert never did.

“Uh, he’s well. Thank you for asking.”

Robert smiled, “Good. I heard he was having a rough run for a while.”

 _Great, now even Robert fucking Baratheon knows more about my own family than I do._

“Just stress from work, I’m sure,” Sansa smiled, knowing it looked insincere.

“Ah, at least he’s got Cat to help him through the tough times. Now _there’s_ a good woman,” Robert lifted his glass at Jaime. _Is he implying that I’m_ not _a good woman?_

Tywin rolled his eyes and once again dared to interject, “So, Sansa—” but was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and shutting. Sansa didn’t need to turn to know who it was, she could practically smell his cologne from here, and could definitely sense the dark cloud forming overhead.

Joffrey strutted in, though his legs were wobbling, and headed straight to his mom to give her a kiss on the cheek before pulling a chair up to position himself between Tywin and Robert.

“Mom, Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Jaime, _Aunt_ Sansa, everyone… Happy Thanksgiving. Nice to see you all.”

They all muttered responses while Cersei scolded him, “I told you to be here at four. It’s now 5:45. We’re about to serve dessert.”

“Good, that’s my favorite part,” he winked at Sansa, and her hand flung to Jaime’s of its own volition. He squeezed it.

Cersei sighed, “You’re drunk. Tell me you didn’t drive.”

“Of course I drove, mother, you took away my driver, _remember?”_ He once again looked at Sansa.

“Well you’re Ubering home, or Tommen or Myrcella can drop you off. This is utter stupidity.”

Robert snorted, “I have to agree with your mother on this; what would happen if you killed someone? You realize you’d ruin your life for good?”

_Not to mention the innocent victim’s…_

Tywin narrowed his eyes, exhaled, and turned again to Sansa, seemingly resuming whatever he had been about to say before Joffrey’s arrival, “So, Sansa, I hear you and Jaime will start trying in early Spring.”

“Trying what?”

Tywin snorted at her ignorance, “For a child.”

While Sansa coughed on her wine, Joffrey cackled, “Well don’t try _too_ hard, Uncle Jaime, you might break something.”

She turned to see Jaime. His jaw was clenched, “Dad – I told you we were _thinking_ about it.”

“What’s there to think about? The timing will be perfect. Everyone loves a pregnant woman, let them have that image in mind when they go to the polling booths.”

“That doesn’t give you much time, uncle; if you’re not up to task just let me know,” Joffrey spoke around a mouthful of stuffing which he washed down with wine a server had poured him.

Robert chuckled, slapping Joffrey on the shoulder. _Oh what a proud father-son moment._ “You ask me you should have done it the moment you were married. Put those fag rumors to bed for good.”

Tywin stared daggers at an oblivious Robert but said nothing.

Sansa felt blood rising. Later she’d have to set things straight with Jaime about why he was talking about this subject with his father at all, but right now she was busy imagining murdering Robert with her bare hands. And feet. And teeth. And maybe that heavy wine decanter on the table. Only Jaime’s hand on her thigh stilled her. She turned to Cersei, unable to look at Jaime’s eyes without crying. Cersei looked at her with something akin to sympathy. It was clear that if Sansa wanted to murder Robert, she’d have a very willing accomplice.

Sansa swallowed tears and sipped her wine, praying this was all a twisted nightmare she’d wake from. A small warm hand sought hers and she turned to see Myrcella looking at her with a sad smile, “I for one think whenever it happens it will be a blessing! You and Uncle Jaime will be great parents, and your child will be beautiful. I can’t wait to babysit!”

Tywin cleared his throat, seemingly realizing the unseemliness of his earlier words, “Of course. That it happens at all is the important thing, and that mother and child are happy and healthy.”

Sansa turned to her father-in-law, remembering how his first wife died, and a wave of compassion washed over her. She felt all was forgiven. He looked wistful in that moment – not an expression she’d ever seem on him. She nodded and offered a weak but genuine smile, to which he nodded back.

…Then, he ruined everything, “Jaime, just don’t conceive _too_ early. You can’t risk having to cancel late-campaign events because she goes into labor.”

Sansa saw red, jumping out of her seat so fast it fell over behind her, “Are you fucking serious!? Why don’t you stop over with an ovulation test kit later, _Dad_? That way you can swing by when I’m at my most fertile to make sure there is nothing wrong with Jaime’s technique!”

She was seething, heart pounding in her ears, chest rising and falling. If she was only a few years older she might fear she was having a heart attack.

Jaime pulled at her wrist and she looked down to see an expression not of support but of caution; his eyes were saying, “ _Bitch, be cool!”._

He opened his mouth to speak but was smart enough to know any words that weren’t in her defense would be the last he ever spoke. He closed his mouth.

Robert, of all people, tried to be the voice of reason, “Perhaps it’s not appropriate dinner conversation, but we’re all family here, right?. It’s natural for those of us that are parents to want to offer advice to the newlyweds.”

Joffrey snort, “Yeah, we’re all family, _Aunt_ _Sansa…_ And don’t worry, no one will blame you if there aren’t little lion cubs this time next year. I can attest that all your _parts_ are more than adequate.”

Jaime rose furiously but Sansa was already standing and whipping her pie plate at Joffrey’s face before she could think. She scored a direct hit that Sandor would be proud of. Cersei and Myrcella gasped, Tywin glowered, and Robert belly laughed while Joffrey wiped apple filling and whipped cream off his face, mouth agape in shock.

“I didn’t sleep with you, you little creep! You attacked me but were too damned drunk and passed out instead. I only wish I’d done every woman in the tri-state area a favor and held a pillow over your head!”

Jaime was holding her elbows in each of his hands, Sansa only now realized. She thought he was doing it to be supportive since she felt pretty damn dizzy in that moment, but when she tried to turn, she felt how tight his grip was and realized he’d been holding her back from lunging across the table.

She stared at him in shock and hurt, but his eyes were still pleading with her to be calm. She snorted out a bitter laugh, “Where’s the Jaime who pummeled Preston Greenfield when he groped me? Oh I forgot; he doesn’t exist when Tywin Lannister is in the room.”

Sansa was vaguely aware of all that was occurring in her periphery. Cersei, Myrcella, and the boys looking shocked. Robert fuming at Joffrey, Tywin fuming at Sansa. Joffrey looking like someone finally told him that his shit really does stink. But all she could see was the pleading look in Jaime’s eyes. If she wasn’t so angry, she might have felt sorry for him. She could see the message he was trying to convey: _I know I’m a fucking coward, but please don’t hate me._

How a grown man could be _this_ afraid of his own father was a mystery, and Sansa desperately wished there was a good explanation other than that her husband, who she cared so deeply for, had no spine.

She looked over to Tywin, the patriarch, the one she wanted to blame for his son’s lack of confidence, his daughter’s bitterness, and his grandson’s… _everything._

The Old Lion met her eyes with a challenge, and Sansa answered it, “You’re pathetic,” and walked outside.

She made it to the driveway before Jaime and Myrcella caught up with her. “San, please!”

Jaime almost fell over when Myrcella pushed past him to pull Sansa into a hug. Though Sansa didn’t know the her that well, she welcomed the hug, eager to receive reassurance from someone who didn’t want to lecture her, fuck her, or inseminate her in that moment.

“I’m so sorry about Dad and Grandpa and Joffrey. They’re assholes.”

“Cella!” Jaime gasped.

Sansa pushed away from her gently, “Thanks, Myrcella. For what it’s worth I’m sorry if I ruined your holiday.” She lit a cigarette.

“Hah! You _couldn’t_ ruin it; it was destined to be ruined like all our holidays. You standing up to Joff and Grandpa was possibly the best moment of my life… Hey, can I get one of those?” She pointed at Sansa’s smokes.

“Cella!”

Sansa handed her a cigarette if only to piss off Jaime. The girl was twenty-two, not twelve.

“Umm, bad influence much?” he looked at Sansa indignantly.

_Oh no he didn’t._

“Umm, Uncle Jaime, I’ve been smoking since freshman year. I’ve been watching mom smoke and drink to relieve her stress for my entire life, don’t blame your wife!”

The rest of their words faded away as Sansa continued walking down the long private drive, needing space and time and nicotine, but Jaime seemed insistent on only letting her get one of the three. Myrcella seemed to have disappeared around the side of the house but Jaime trotted after her, “San, will you talk to me please? And stop walking. We live 15 miles away and I know those shoes aren’t comfortable.”

She didn’t stop walking and she didn’t talk to him. She could hear the frustration in his voice when he spoke again, “San, please… I _know_ they’re all asshole, I’m not saying you’re wrong – about _anything_ – but you seem to be forgetting what we signed up for. It’s not like we had a meet-cute and fell in love and now my dad is interfering. And Joffrey – what good will me hitting him do? He’ll just cry to Cersei, she’ll scold him for two minutes, then kiss his booboos and tell him how perfect he is.”

“San?”

…

“Sansa will you stop walking?”

…

“You seriously going to _silence treatment_ me?”

…

“What the fuck do you want, huh? You want me to march in there, tell my dad to stay out of my life, punch my nephew, punch my brother-in-law, and hey, maybe while I’m at it I’ll tell them all I’m gay.”

…

“Sansa stop walking. We’ll go home – _in our car­_ – you can yell at me there, or ignore me, or take a fucking carving knife to me when I go to sleep. Just please _stop_ walking.”

…

“Fuck,” Jaime mumbled, then he wasn’t by her side anymore. Two minutes later he was in his car pulling up alongside Sansa, but she still didn’t stop walking, nor did she look at him.

…

“San, I won’t think I’ve won the battle if you get in the car, okay?”

…

“San, this is a manual; I can’t roll along at two miles per hour.”

…

“For fuck’s sake, Sansa! Do you always have to be so bloody stubborn? I already told you _you’re_ right, they’re wrong, I’m a prick… okay? Now will you get in the fucking car?!” His fists slammed the horn at his last word, and Sansa looked at him. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be trying to compose himself as he inhaled and exhaled deeply through his nostrils, “Pretty please, with a cherry on top.” 

…

He’d finally gotten her in the car but still she didn’t speak. She was no longer crying, no longer looked mad, and it was somehow way worse. He’d seen this expression on Cersei a couple hundred times whenever when she didn’t get her way. Jaime wondered if they taught it to little girl’s in preschool.

They drove in uncomfortable silence for ten minutes and were almost home when Jaime decided to confide in her something that may excuse some of his dad and Robert’s behavior, even if not Joffrey’s, “Look, keep this between us, but just tonight my dad told me that Robert’s business is in trouble. Which means his livelihood, which Cersei and the kids depend on, is in trouble. On top of that, two different women are coming after Robert for 12- and 15-years’ worth of child support, respectively, threatening to go public with all kinds of dirt on him if they don’t get the millions they’re asking for. It’s a fucking mess. My dad is understandably stressed about it. So is Robert… and Cersei, for that matter.”

Finally Sansa spoke, but her reaction was not what Jaime had hoped for, “Poor Robert, if only someone told him having unprotected sex with women other than his wife could have negative repercussions.”

Jaime snorted, “It’s not just the affairs and the paternity lawsuits. His business is going under. Given your father’s recent troubles I thought you might at _least_ be sympathetic to _that_ …”

Sansa turned her head slowly toward Jaime; so slowly it was frightening.

_Oh fuck…_

He was glad they had pulled into their garage, because being alone in a car with her seemed like a major risk to his person at this point. Tears were back in her eyes, but he was pretty sure they were tears of rage. She threw open the car door, narrowly missing the post, then slammed it loudly enough to wake the dead. She stomped up the three steps and swung open the door that led into the house, Jaime following at a safe distance while pleading his case, “Sansa, I didn’t mean it that way and you know it; it just came out wrong.”

She spun around so quickly he jumped back, “And what is the _right_ way to compare my father to Robert Baratheon, hmm? My father may not be the world’s greatest business man, like _your_ dad, but I’m fairly certain that if Robert’s business is failing it’s because the time he should spend running it he spends with his lips on a bottle or his dick in a whore… or perhaps both at the same time!”

Sandor appeared in Jaime’s periphery, no doubt alerted by Sansa shouting Robert’s infidelities at the top of her lungs. The people on the other wide of the lake probably heard.

Deciding diplomacy was the best course of action, Jaime conceded, “You’re right. Look, I said that because I was mad, and I wanted to get a rise out of you. I do _not_ think your father is anything like Robert Baratheon. I’m sorry, San. For saying that and for everything else, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you? Are you sorry? Then here,” Sansa handed him her phone, “Call your Dad and tell him not to worry about when you knock up your wife. Tell Robert that if he ever makes another lewd comment about me, you’re going to take a baseball bat to his beloved wine cellar. Tell Joffrey that if he ever occupies the same space as me that you’re going to call the police!”

“Sansa, you’re not being fair. You know I can’t—”

“Why?! Why can’t you?! Why do you give them dominion over your life, Jaime? You don’t need any of them, even your father!”

“They’re family, Sansa!”

“ _I’m_ your family! Me, Nate… Hells, Sandor is a better friend to you than your own blood!”

How could he possibly make her understand that which he barely understood himself – that the idea of going against his father turned him into a puddle of fear. It transported him back to being a little boy, desperately trying to please his father by reading _Green Eggs and Ham_ without mispronouncing every other word. He knew he was pathetic and a coward, but she would never understand how the very _thought_ of the conversation she wanted him to have with his father made him literally nauseated.

“I know, damnit!” he shouted. Sansa flinched at his sudden change in demeanor, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’m a fuck-up, I’m a coward, I’m a little fucking boy afraid of his father! My whole family is fit to be institutionalized, myself included!” he paced the kitchen, running his hands through his hair, fighting the tears that prickled his eyes. “Ever since my mom died, my dad poured all his energy into building this fucking illusion of perfection, and all I ever wanted was to play my part. You know how fucking hard that was, Sansa? _Do you_?! Do you realize how many years I denied my own nature just because it didn’t fit the mold my father had for me? How many women I slept with in my youth to convince myself I was something I’m not?!”

He collapsed into a chair, cradling his aching head, exhausted by his confession. A warm hand touched his wrist, “Jaime…” Sansa whispered.

“Don’t. Just… _don’t._ ” He didn’t want her pity. “Just, go smoke a cigarette, Sansa. I know I’m a fucking coward and don’t need to be reminded of it by you.”

She was starting to protest when Sandor pulled her outside. He could hear their muffled voices through the glass door and imagined Sansa telling him about the whole evening. Telling her _boyfriend,_ who had no qualms about telling people to get bent… who couldn’t possibly relate to Jaime’s woes.

Minutes passed and the voices became heated – well, _his_ became heated, hers sounded pleading. The door slid open roughly, but Jaime didn’t bother looking up until strong hands were yanking him up by his shirt.

“Sandor, don’t!” Sansa cried.

“Time to man the fuck up, Lannister. You sat there and let Sansa be mocked and humiliated and slobbered over and didn’t say a damned thing? Stop feeling sorry for yourself; grow some fucking balls and stand up to your father!”

“Sandor, please,” Sansa begged, trying unsuccessfully to pull his hands off of Jaime’s shirt.

Jaime just threw his head back and laughed, “Can we pretend for just one night that this is a normal household? Can my wife and I have a spat without her live-in boyfriend getting involved? Really, is it too much to ask for you to give us some fucking _privacy_?!” At his last words his tone became bitter.

Sandor snarled, “If you stood up for your wife instead of giving into your family of nutjobs, I wouldn’t have to get involved.”

“Sandor, stop it!” Sansa turned from him to Jaime, “Jaime, please listen. I’m not unsympathetic to your situation; I just don’t want to see you letting your family control your life.”

Jaime snorted, “Like how your family forced you to marry a man you’d never met? Then turned their backs on you when you did… oh yeah, your family’s a regular Brady Bunch…”

Jaime finally yanked Sandor’s hands away and shoved him back, “And what the fuck would _you_ know about it anyway? Want to lecture me on normal family dynamics? Because you have _so_ much experience in that domain…”

He knew it was a low blow but couldn’t care. Sandor’s eyes flashed something unreadable before he turned away, “Fuck this, I’m going for a fucking walk.”

The silence was heavy after the front door slammed shut. Sansa wouldn’t meet his eyes and only spoke when he picked up his phone, wallet, and keys, “Where are you going?

“Think I’ll just take a cue from your _man_ and go for a drive to cool off.”

“Jaime, you don’t have to leave. I’ll give you some space.”

“No, no, no… I may not be much of a man, Sansa, but I’m enough of a gentleman to oblige a woman who can’t stand my presence.”

Her voice called after him, but he didn’t listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... was my Lannister/Baratheon dinner a bit much? If so, I really don't care, because I love writing despicable people.


	37. War and Peace

Sansa must have cried herself to sleep on the den sofa, for she woke to the sound of the front door opening and closing. She jumped up and ran up the stairs ready to spring into Sandor’s arms if he’d allow her but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Joffrey standing before her, hair rumpled and eyes bloodshot.

Her throat went dry, but she managed to speak, “Joffrey… what are you doing here?”

“Mother and father insisted I call to apologize. I thought I’d do one better and call on you and Uncle Jaime in person.”

“It’s late, perhaps you should—”

“It’s not that late. Where’s Uncle Jaime?”

“He… he, uh, went down the street to get me cigarettes.”

“Why didn’t you send Sandor, isn’t that his job?”

“Oh, he doesn’t work today because of the holiday. And anyway, he went to bed!” Sansa offered eagerly, desperately hoping Joffrey would believe Sandor was in the house.

“Wow, the old guard dog’s getting soft. Didn’t even wake up to bark when I came in the door. Let’s wake him up, shall we?” Joffrey moved to the foyer, shouting Sandor’s name loudly toward the stairs, and of course getting no reply.

_Fuck._

“Looks like he went out,” Joffrey said smugly as he walked back into the kitchen.

“Uh, maybe he did. He doesn’t have to tell us his comings-and-goings on his day off. I’ll call your Uncle, tell him you’re here to see him.”

She reached for her phone on the counter, but Joffrey got there first, stilling her hand, “That’s not needed, you said he’ll be back any minute, right? No need to rush him…”

“Of course not,” she smiled, “can I get you something to drink? Water?”

“Wine will be fine, or a beer – whatever you have.”

 _Fuck._ She could tell he was already hammered but pulled out a beer and handed it to him.

“So, can you believe this is the first time I’ve been by since you got married?”

“Wow, is it? Time flies…”

“Ya know, I really am surprised.”

“Oh?”

“I was _so_ sure Uncle Jaime was a fag.”

Sansa faked a laugh, “Well, he’s not, I can testify to that.”

Joffrey completely ignored her, sipping his beer and staring down at an obscene gold watch that only made his wrist look dainty, “You know my friends and I saw him at a club once, years back… he was looking so cozy with this other man…”

“Oh, probably just a friend. You know how loud clubs are, they probably needed to get close to be able to hear each other speak.”

Joffrey shrugged, “Then there are all the comments my dad has made over the years. I mean, he probably would have bet his Bentley on Jaime being a queer.”

Sansa was running out of things to say, not that it seemed to matter. Joffrey snapped his eyes up, “Geez, where did he go for your cigarettes? Mars?”

“Oh, um, I asked him to stop at CVS, too… girl stuff…”

“Sansa…” Joffrey arched a brow.

“What?”

He stroked a hand up her arm, “This is me you’re talking to, remember? I know this whole marriage was orchestrated by Grandfather. You don’t have to pretend to be the happy, doting wife.”

“I’m not pretending! Jaime and I have become very close…”

“Oh I bet, like a girl and her GBF.”

“Joffrey, your uncle is _not_ gay, as I’ve told you—”

He held a finger to her lips, “Let me guess, Uncle Jaime _isn’t_ at the convenience store buying cigarettes, or at the drug store buying tampons. He’s having a sleepover at a _friend’s_ house, isn’t he? And the reason you gave Sandor the night off is so that he wouldn’t question where the man of the house is.”

If he weren’t so wrong, Sansa would have admired Joffrey’s ability to come up with this hypothesis. It was probably the most brainpower she’d ever seen him use. Apparently, he was only smart when it came to figuring ways to be a dick.

She decided on a different approach – assertiveness, “Joffrey, I can’t have you insult my husband this way. You are wrong about your uncle. It’s time for you to leave. If you truly wish to apologize, I must insist you find another time to do it, when your uncle is ho—”

His wormy lips silenced her words. She pushed him off and, surprisingly, he let her, though kept his hands on her arms. “Sansa, we spent four wonderful days together. You know I want you, and I know you want me. It’s alright if you want to play hard to get, I actually kind of like it…”

“It’s not an act, Joffrey, I truly don’t—” his finger pressed to her mouth again.

“I know the drill, Sansa. I’ve met plenty of girls like you that like playing good girl... too proud to take what you want. But it’s no matter, I don’t mind playing the bad boy.”

His lips found hers again and she decided words were no longer working. She hoped to buy time before either Jaime or Sandor came home, but it could be hours. Or worse, what if Sandor had gone to Bronn’s and Jaime to Nate’s? Her mind struggled to think of an idea other than fighting Joffrey. Sure, a kick to the balls would buy her a few seconds, but then what? Could she best a man in a full-on fist fight?

As he continued his unreciprocated kiss, she finally came up with an idea… _it just might work._ Swallowing fear and bile, she returned his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. Instantly he became emboldened, pressing her back against the refrigerator and ravaging her neck. She panted breathlessly, repeated his name sweetly, and watched as he became more and more ardent before her eyes.

“Joff – wait,” she breathed.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he murmured into her hair.

“No, just, I need to call my friend before he goes to bed at eleven. I told him I’d go Black Friday shopping with him tomorrow at 4 am… but there’s no way I’m getting up that early, not if, well, you know,” she tried to look sheepish.

Joffrey pulled away and grinned, “Oh you’ll be up at 4 am, sweetheart… that is, you’ll _still_ be up…”

Joffrey grabbed her phone off the counter and swiped it open, looking through her contacts “What’s your friend’s name?” 

Good thing she was expecting this. Joffrey was – who knew it – too smart to let her call Jaime or Sandor. Or the cops.

“Oh, it’s Bronn. With a B.”

He clicked on Bronn’s name then handed her the phone. She held in a sigh of relief that he at least didn’t put it on speakerphone.

After four rings Bronn answered, the sounds of bar patrons in the background, _“Hey Red, calling for your husband or your man servant?”_

“What?”

_“Jaime and Sandor are here, that’s why you’re calling right? You probably tried them, but they didn’t hear their ringers with all the noise…”_

**_Oh thank the Gods!_** She was only hoping to reach Bronn, knowing he’d come to her aid and call Sandor for her. The fact that he was _with_ Sandor and Jaime was a giant bonus.

“No… I was just calling to tell you I don’t think I’ll be up for an early bird shopping spree tomorrow… It’s been a long night and it’s not over yet…”

Joff sniggered proudly. _Fucking dick._

_“Huh? What the fuck are you talking about?”_

“Yeah, sure; if you’re up for going later in the day, but I’m afraid I’ve had a good bit to drink,” she winked at Joff, “and Jaime’s nephew is here visiting so we’re probably going to do a few shots… ya know, celebrate the holiday…”

Joff smiled, retrieving two cups from the cabinet and pouring some of Jaime’s scotch into them.

_“Is everything okay, Red? Are you in some kind of trouble?”_

“ ** _Yep._** You, too!” She hung up, knowing Bronn would relay the strange conversation to Jaime and Sandor and they would be here in under five minutes. Probably.

Joff handed her a cup then clinked his glass against hers. The both downed the amber fluid. _A little liquid courage can’t hurt…_

“I think I’ll just go freshen up,” Sansa started to say, but clearly patience wasn’t one of Joffrey’s few virtues as he pulled her in for another kiss.

 _Not this time you little shit._ She kicked him hard in the shin, then ran for the front door without looking back. But just as she reached the door, she felt herself go down, Joffrey on her back.

“Fucking bitch!” he snarled as he rolled her over and straddled her chest. He tried to pin her arms but her right slipped free long enough to scratch at his face.

He clutched his skin, momentarily freeing both her arms, but from this position she had no leverage to deliver effective blows. She desperately tried to remember Arya’s lessons from all those years ago… Balls, nose, knee, shin, if you’re facing your attacker. Elbow the solar plexus if your back is to them. _Fuck Arya, all that assumes I’m standing up!_

After recovering from the initial pain of the scratches Joffrey pinned her arms again and moved between her legs, her dress already riding up to her hips. But he could not free himself without at least one hand, and though he tried to pin both her wrists with his other hand, his delicate fingers weren’t long enough, and she wriggled her hands free. Finally more of Arya’s lessons came back, and she could even hear her sister’s feisty little voice, _“If someone gets you to the ground, don’t try to push him away, you’ll never be strong enough, instead pull him_ toward _you, then bite whatever you can reach… cheek, ear, neck, shoulder... And bite **hard**.”_

Wrapping both arms around Joffrey’s neck, she pulled him down to her chest. His arms flew out to each side, trying to push himself up off the floor, but Sansa kept her legs and arms wrapped around him like a python. _Thank you, Arya, wherever you are!_ … Though she refused to bite any part of him, not when help was hopefully seconds away.

When Joffrey regained enough presence of mind to yank at her arms, she could feel her strength giving out, so she let go and clawed at his face like a rabid badger.

\----------------------------------

Jaime drove around aimlessly for the better part of an hour, letting the cool autumn air sober him from his misery. He decided he needed a drink but thought he should give Sansa some more time alone. Truthfully, he’d been a major prick and didn’t look forward to seeing a look of either anger, pity, or disappointment on her face when he next saw her. He considered going to Nate’s but that would only guarantee a lecture. Instead, Jaime pulled into the local bar. This way if he got tanked it would only be a short walk home.

The place was crowded and loud as it always was late on Thanksgiving night. Half the country was at home, snuggled up in bed dreaming of Black Friday deals; the other half was out kicking off the long weekend. Bronn and two other men were tending bar when Jaime came in and took the only unoccupied spot he saw.

Bronn approached him after serving someone a beer, “You get kicked out?”

“Huh?”

“Big guy said he left to give you and the missus some privacy so you could put on the gloves and go a few rounds.”

“What?”

Bronn nodded to the corner of the bar. Jaime followed his gaze and saw Sandor sitting in the furthest booth, staring down into a whiskey.

Jaime turned back to Bronn, “He actually said that?”

“Not really, but I filled in the blanks. Bartender’s intuition.”

“Fuck,” Jaime sighed, “Give me a scotch, double, and another of whatever he’s drinking.”

A minute later Jaime approached a scowling Sandor. “Come here often?” he joked.

“What the fuck you want, Lannister?” he asked without looking up.

“To not drink alone.”

Jaime didn’t wait for permission before sliding into the bench seat across from him. He exhaled, “And to apologize.”

“Then you’re doing it to the wrong person.”

“Oh, I fully intend on doing _that_ when I work up the nerve, or rather when I think she might be more receptive to it. Believe it or not, I’m more afraid of her than you.”

Sandor snorted, “I believe it.”

“Yeah well… anyway, for the record, I’m not apologizing to you for anything other than the comment about your family. That was low, even for a Lannister.”

Sandor shrugged, “Low, but true. You’re right that I know nothing about family. I only know yours is unhealthy.”

“That’s an understatement.”

A few drinks later, Jaime actually felt better. The two men shared occasional casual conversation, but both seemed to be doing a lot of quiet self-reflection.

Then Bronn walked over with a perplexed look on his face…

\----------------------------------

“SANSA!” Jaime’s voice shouted, and a giant black blur yanked Joffrey up and threw him across the foyer, toppling a table and shattering a vase.

_I liked that vase._

Then Jaime was blocking her view, holding her cheeks in both hands, staring into her eyes, and asking if she was hurt.

She looked down at herself, “No… I don’t think so…”

Jaime pulled her into a hug, “Oh thank Gods… I’m so sorry, Sansa.”

Now, over his shoulder, she could see the black blur was Sandor, and he was pummeling Joffrey repeatedly. Pull him up by his collar, _punch,_ down he goes… pull him up again, _punch_ , down he goes…

A voice spoke behind them, “You alright, Red?” she pulled herself away from the violent yet mesmerizing spectacle to turn to Bronn and nod.

“I got her, Jaime,” Bronn said as he knelt down next to Sansa, wrapping an arm around her.

Jaime’s face transformed from concern to anger before her eyes. His cheeks reddened, his jaw clenched, and he turned and walked very stiffly to where Sandor had Joffrey on the floor. Jaime’s hand landed on Sandor’s shoulder, stopping him mid-swing.

Sandor nodded and turned, but when his eyes found Sansa he quickly looked away.

Her eyes returned to Joffrey, who looked relieved to see his uncle had called off the dog… until Jaime picked him up by the collar, almost lifting his toes off the floor, and carried him to the front door where he slammed him into the glass side panel, Joffrey’s head thudding against it hard. Joffrey was on his feet now, but barely, being mostly held up by Jaime holding his face smashed against the glass in what looked very painful.

Frighteningly calm words came out of Jaime’s mouth, “You know how _easy_ it would be to get rid of you for good? We could kill you right now, go get your car, and drive it along with your pathetic little body into a tree. Just another drunk driver… Should we do that?”

Joff tried to shake his head within Jaime’s iron grip.

“Or we could save ourselves some trouble, just weigh you down with cement blocks and dump you in the middle of the lake. Say Bronn, can I borrow you boat for an hour?”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

“We’re not too far from the Meadowlands. Could just dump you in the marshes; let you rot away with all the other scumbags nobody cared about.”

Joffrey tried to speak, but only blood spit out of his mouth.

“Who would even miss you? Your mom? That’s _one_ person. Your grandfather will be glad to be rid of you, so will your siblings, _me…_ even your father will feel at least some relief.. _._ That what you want, Joffrey? To disappear and be completely forgotten about in a matter of weeks?”

Jaime released his grip enough so Joffrey could shake his head.

“Well it won’t matter what you want, if you ever look at, speak to, or touch my wife again.” Jaime slid his hand down to Joff’s throat, squeezing, “As far as she’s concerned you are a deaf, dumb, and blind eunuch. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re not my blood. You’re a fucking stranger. Am I clear?”

Joff nodded, eyes wide with fear. Jaime yanked open the door and threw him down the front porch steps, clearly not caring if he broke any bones on the way down.

Bronn looked out the door, amused, before turning to Jaime, “Wanna give me his address? I’ll see the little twerp gets home.”

“That isn’t necessary, we—”

“No way, Lannister. I’m not letting either you or the big guy alone in a car with him. Not because I care whether he lives or dies, but because I don’t want to have testify against either of you in court.”

Bronn looked down to Sansa, who realized she was still sitting on the floor, “Then again, if hubby goes away for life, you and I can fly to Costa Rica and live off his money, say Red?”

“Any chance we can leave _right now?_ ”

“Ah! There’s my girl, always quick with a joke or a light of your smoke!”

“Bronn, wait,” Jaime stopped him from turning for the door, “I owe you. If anything had happened…”

“Don’t fret over it, Jaime. I like being owed favors by rich folk,” he winked, “Oh… and in case you’re wondering, what happened here tonight – I didn’t see a thing.”

“Bronn, you can tell CNN for all I care – that’s the least of my worries right now.”

Bronn nodded, “Text me his address.” He then strutted out casually, whistling a merry melody before pulling the door shut behind him.

Sansa finally tried to stand, Jaime rushing to help her which she waved off before realizing her legs actually were wobbly.

“Come on, let’s get you a cigarette,” Jaime offered, and with an arm wrapped around her shoulders he led her out back. Sandor was sitting on one of the settees, but he would not meet Sansa’s eyes. _He’s still mad from before,_ she realized, though she didn’t know precisely why he was mad. Mad because she tried to pull him off of Jaime? Mad because she let Joffrey in the house? (well, technically, she just forgot to lock the door).

Jaime sat with her on the opposite side, clearly sensing the vibe Sandor was giving off, “What happened, San?”

She could only shake her head. She had no strength to talk.

“It’s alright,” Jaime offered in that soothing voice he had. She mused that he’d be good at singing lullabies, and that reminded her of something from dinner – what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Why did you tell your father we’re going to try to get pregnant?”

Jaime rubbed a hand down his face, “He was on my case one day, just wouldn’t drop it, I said it just to shut him up for a few months. I swear I’d never assume—”

“It’s alright, Jaime. I kind of figured it was something like that.”

She leaned into him, savoring the smell of his aftershave and masculinity, almost dozing off when Sandor’s raspy voice broke through the silence, “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What?”

“Why did you call Bronn?”

_Is that why he’s mad?_

“I- He stopped me when I tried to call Jaime, figured he’d do the same if I tried to call you. I made up a story about needing to call a friend, and I figured Bronn was closest… I- I made him think… just so I could get him to let me use the phone I made him think…” The tears being held back for the past hour came flooding out now, and Sandor rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms as Jaime stroked her back.

“I’m sorry!” she managed between sobs, “I don’t know why he’s like this with me! I don’t know what he sees in me that makes him think I want him. I swear I don’t mean it!”

“Stop,” Sandor said firmly, “You did _nothing_ wrong; you understand? You think Cersei paid me so well just to drive the little shit around? My job was cleaning up his messes, which usually involved girls.”

“Then why are you mad at me?” Sansa squeaked, knowing how childlike her voice sounded through her tears and snot.

“Mad at _you_? Sansa I’m not mad at you I’m mad at me… I never should have left you. I was pissed off and… but I should have stayed. You needed someone and I left.”

“Stop this nonsense,” Jaime scolded them, “I’m the one who left her alone, and it wasn’t because I was mad at you, Sansa. I mean I was, but only because you call me on my shit. I couldn’t stand looking in your eyes and seeing my fucking weakness reflected in them.”

“Jaime, having _a_ weakness doesn’t make you weak. Your dad is like… your kryptonite.”

“Are you saying I’m like Superman?” he puffed out his chest in jest.

“Mmm… a blond Henry Cavill… I’d tap that.”

Jaime chuckled, “Who wouldn’t?”

“Seriously though, the way you threatened Joffrey… _hot_ …”

Sandor nodded, “Yeah, Lannister. Gotta say, even I was a little intimidated.”

“ _Me?_ Watching you throttle him… made me wish I had thought to record it with my phone.”

Sansa turned to Sandor and nodded eagerly, “ _Oh_ yeah! How lucky am I? I get not one but _two_ knights in shining armor…”

“Hey, you were no damsel in distress… Joffrey’s face looked like he’d been mauled by a mountain lion before either of us laid a finger on him.”

Sansa chuckled, but when she turned back to Jaime, he had an oddly serious look on his face. “Jaime – are you alright?”

His trance broke when she spoke, “Hmm? Oh, yeah,” he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, “never better.”

He pulled his phone out and dialed a number.

“Hi, Dad—”

…

“Oh; yes, I suppose it is rather late. Joffrey coming here to attack my wife – _again_ – made me lose track of time…”

…

“Indeed, but that’s not why I’m calling – though we _will_ talk about that at very soon. I just thought I’d let you know I’m dropping the campaign,” with that he hung up the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaahhh... so nervous about posting this one. More drama than I want to have in this fic, but I feel like something extreme was needed to cement the bond of our triangle.


	38. Sansa's punishment

_Nope, it’s official, **this** is the gayest thing I’ve ever done._

Sandor woke when sun beams shone through Sansa’s bedroom window. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Sansa’s hair, and instinctively pressing his morning hardness against her bottom, but when he opened his eyes it was Jaime’s sleeping face he saw.

His own body was spooning Sansa, who laid face-to-face with Jaime. Memories of the previous night came back. Jaime and Sansa coming home from Cersei’s house in full-on fight mode. Then there were several drinks of straight whiskey at the bar, some alone, some with Jaime. Then Bronn telling them about the strange phone call from Sansa. Then Jaime driving them both about a hundred miles an hour to the house, while Bronn followed in his truck. Sandor jumping out before the car had fully screeched to a stop in the driveway. Then seeing Joffrey kneeling over Sansa, his face scratched and bloodied, as he pinned her arms to her sides. Then it was blurry; he only saw red until Lannister pulled him from his violent trance.

Then Sansa was crying, then they were all laughing, then Jaime called his dad, there was more crying, drinking, laughing… and repeat – until Sansa said she was tired. She held both their hands as she led them upstairs. As she stood outside her bedroom door, even Sandor’s stoned brain knew she was wondering which man to bring to her bed. They were all too drunk and tired to do anything besides sleep, so Sandor honestly didn’t care. He was confused when she didn’t drop either’s hand but pulled them both into her room and right into her bed. Sandor was too bloody tired to protest, and he vaguely remembered thinking that Sansa needed this. She had been good about laughing off the incident with Joffrey, but he could see in the way her hands trembled when she lit a cigarette that she was shaken. As she nestled herself against Jaime’s chest, with Sandor curled protectively around her, it actually felt _right_ – if only so that Sansa would sleep safe and sound.

But waking up stone sober to see Lannister’s face in the light of day while sporting a major case of morning wood, felt very _wrong._

But that wasn’t quite right… It wasn’t that it felt _wrong_ , it’s that it felt wrong that it still felt _right_.

Sandor extricated himself carefully, and when Sansa rolled over, now with her back to Jaime’s chest, and her hand instinctively sought the remnant warmth where Sandor had been laying, he almost got back in bed. _Almost…_

Instead he brushed his teeth in the hall bathroom and went downstairs to brew coffee, hoping it would be in his system before he had to face either Sansa or Jaime.

 _But when did things ever go my way?_ Jaime trotted downstairs, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, less than fifteen minutes later, “Morning sunshine,” he grinned.

Sandor just grunted a reply, “Sleeping beauty still sleeping?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good, she needs the rest after yesterday.”

“I’ll say.”

Despite wishing away his presence moments ago, Sandor now was dying to talk to Jaime, “Soo… still sticking to your guns?”

Jaime chuckled, “Yeah, about that… do you actually own a gun? Because there are ten missed calls from my father, and I’m pretty sure his next move is to show up here, metaphorical guns-a-blazing.”

“I actually own lots of guns, but unfortunately no silver bullets… not sure your dad can be killed by any ordinary ammo.”

An hour later, Jaime and Sandor were making French toast when Sansa finally came downstairs, looking a bit puffy eyed but otherwise no worse for wear.

Jaime snorted at seeing her enter the kitchen, “I knew you’d wake up if you smelled food.”

“Hardy har.” She poured a cup of coffee and drank it like it was the most delicious thing she’d ever had.

“Think Nate is around today?” Sansa asked Jaime’s back.

He turned around and winked, “What’s the matter – two men in your bed not enough?”

Sandor tried not to blush but was pretty sure he failed.

Sansa stuck her tongue out, “Hey, when it comes to snuggling, the more the merrier, but _no_ – I was actually thinking I need some girl time.”

Jaime laughed, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“Go ahead, he’ll take it as a compliment.”

“So you going to hang out here or head out?”

She shrugged, “Probably head out, maybe grab lunch then pick through the leftovers at Target.”

“Oh yeah, today’s Black Friday. Well whatever you do, bring Sandor along. I hope Joffrey learned his lesson but in case all we did was wound his ego I don’t want you unprotected.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “You think Nate can’t handle Joffrey?”

“Oh, I _know_ Nate can handle Joffrey. I just don’t know if you and Nate can handle Joffrey’s posse of coked-up douche bags.”

“It’s alright,” Sandor mumbled, “I needed to go out anyway – there’s a certain shop in West Nyack I’ve been meaning to get to.”

Sansa lowered her eyes, remembering the lost bet that she had to pay up on Sunday. She was about to attempt a protest when her phone buzzed. Tywin Lannister’s name showed up on her screen. Before Jaime could see it, she answered it and put it on speakerphone.

“Hey, _Dad_ , it’s so thoughtful of you to call to see how I’m fairing after the incident with Joffrey…”

Jaime’s eyes bugged out of his head and he leaped across the kitchen, trying to grab the phone from her, but Sandor stood up to block his way.

_“Uhh… yes, about that Sansa, I will speak to Joffrey about that, and his parents. However there is a pressing matter we must discuss. I assume you know what I’m referring to?”_

“Yes, of course. You wish to apologize for your words during dinner yesterday… it’s water under the bridge.”

_“Stop playing cute. You know what I’m talking about.”_

Jaime was trying to get around Sandor, but it was a fool’s errand.

“Ohhhh… you must mean when you did nothing while your son-in-law and grandson made lewd comments about me… or when they implied your son is a homosexual.”

Tywin literally growled on the other end of the line, _“No. I’m referring to Jaime’s ridiculous notion to drop out of the election. I realize yesterday was a…_ trying _day, for you both. He will soon come to realize he made an emotional decision. Until he reaches that conclusion, we must ensure he does nothing that can’t be easily undone.”_

“Well as tempting as it is to be your co-conspirator, I think I’ll pass. Calling you last night may have been spur-of-the-moment, but I assure you Jaime’s decision not to run has been on his mind for several weeks now… perhaps even months.”

 _“I can’t help but notice you’ve been married for several months… you wouldn’t be trying to interfere,_ daughter _, would you?”_

“I do nothing but support my husband. I took an active interest in helping him with fundraising – as you know – however when it became apparent that the idea of being a Congressman doesn’t make him happy, I assured him he would have my support in that decision, as well.”

_“You conniving little—”_

“I suggest you watch your tongue, Tywin. Jaime’s been feeling particularly violent towards those that threaten his wife, lately.”

A bitter, exaggerated laugh came through the phone, _“I must say I underestimated you, girl. How’d you do it?”_

“Do what?”

 _“Get Jaime to think you actually give a shit about him, about your marriage. Tell me, is he so dim-witted as to think you actually_ love _him?”_

Sansa’s hackles were up, “Oh it’s quite simple really, I have a magical vagina. Jaime’s simply fallen under my spell…”

_“Cut the crap, Sansa, this isn’t a game.”_

“You’re right. It’s not. You want the truth, Tywin? Your son is tired of having you dictate every facet of his life – his career, his political ambitions, his marriage, his decision to have a family. He isn’t a younger version of you, Tywin, he is his _own_ man. And he’s a great man – intelligent, successful funny, and most importantly, kind. You should be proud of him for that, and nothing else should matter. And not that it’s any of your business, but I do care about your son, and I do love him. I’d be a fool not to.” With that she hung up.

She’d said this all while looking at Jaime, who Sandor finally let pass. Sansa beamed at Jaime, and though a niggling insecurity told Sandor this wasn’t good for him, there was no mistaking the look on Sansa’s face as anything other than a woman looking at her best friend in the entire world. It wasn’t the soul-searching way she looked at Sandor when they lay entwined, or when she sat on his lap and looked at him like the rest of the world didn’t exist. He knew her love for Jaime was a horse of a different color and knowing how little love Jaime had from his family, Sandor actually was glad for him to have Sansa’s affection, not to mention Nate’s. Just as Sansa’s love had filled in the cracks and ravines in Sandor’s heart and soul, so was it repairing the parts of Jaime Lannister that had been beaten down and ridiculed for too long.

They were standing face-to-face, grinning at each other, when Jaime lifted her up and spun her around, “Best wife EVER!”

Sandor was going to give them some privacy when Jaime’s hand found his bicep and pulled him in, “Best wife’s boyfriend EVER.”

Sandor rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the grin, “Best girlfriend ever, and best girlfriend’s husband ever,” he said reluctantly but not disingenuously.

Jaime snorted a laugh but didn’t break the triangle, “Tonight, I want to be the middle spoon.”

“Don’t push it, Lannister.”

\--------------------------------

“You missed a spot.”

Sansa scowled at Sandor where he sat at the kitchen table, sipping a beer and enjoying the view. Sansa had already washed the sink, scrubbed the stovetop, wiped down all the counters, and dusted the open shelves. Now she was on her knees wiping down the lower cabinets.

“They’re not even dirty,” she retorted, “you two are a couple of clean freaks.”

“Thank you,” Jaime raised his beer in salute before exchanging a pleased smirk with Sandor across the table, “I’ve gotta say man, even without the outfit this would be a delight… you chose well.”

“Thank _you,_ Sir,” Sandor tipped his head.

“Oh why don’t you just make out already?” Sansa spat, knowing her jabs lacked zing while delivered in this undignified state. The ‘outfit’ Sandor had selected was a black, skintight dress with white buttons at the too-low neckline. It barely covered her ass – no surprise – and the look was completed by the white lace bowtie around her neck. The finishing touch was the pair of black platform heels that were clearly designed to never actually be walked in. All that covered her _dignity_ was a lacy red thong, which was about to be on full display as the only thing left to do in the kitchen was wash the tile floor – by hand.

The men were surprisingly quiet behind her as she filled the bucket with warm water and Mr. Clean.

“No, use the Pine-Sol—” Jaime started before Sansa silenced him with a glare.

“Or, whatever you prefer, darling,” he smiled innocently.

With a resigned sigh Sansa got on her hands and knees with the rag and bucket and set to work, scrubbing every inch lest her carelessness be pointed out by either of her supervisors. In truth, this situation was equal parts humiliating and arousing. Knowing she had the rapt attention of both men made her feel wanted and powerful. Knowing this was her punishment for losing a challenge that she proposed to begin with seriously bothered the competitive part of her.

When the floor was squeaky clean, she stood, cursing at the red impressions on both of her knees. She felt her eyes bug out when she saw Sandor’s feet were propped up on the table.

“I just cleaned that!”

He nodded once, “Yes you did. Now you know how it feels when you rummage through a basket of clean laundry I’ve just folded and rumple everything up.”

She turned to Jaime, “Are you _sure_ gayness isn’t contagious?”

Sandor brought down his feet with a chuckle, “What’s next, Lannister?”

Jaime consulted the list, crossing off ‘kitchen’… “Well, powder bathroom is next, but I suggest you put in a load of whites first.”

“Did you bring your hampers down?”

“Nope,” they spoke in unison.

“Fine. I hope I twist my ankle walking up the stairs in these shoes… I think spending a night with me in the ER would serve you both right.”

She straightened her back and headed upstairs, not turning back to look at the pairs of eyes following her every move.

Once the laundry was started, she set to wiping down the powder room sink and cleaning the mirror, ignoring her audience until all that was left was the toilet. She turned to her men, “If either of you actually wants to watch me clean a toilet, then we need to have a talk.”

Sandor chuckled, “Fine. Upstairs bathrooms are next. Skip the toilets, but those bathtubs better be clean enough to eat out of when you’re done.”

“Yes, master,” she groaned sarcastically, though Sandor looked pleased, nonetheless.

Though she grumbled throughout her work in the hall bathroom, she realized something halfway through cleaning the master bathroom. The power was hers to have if she’d just reach out and grab it…

She fanned herself, “I’m working up a sweat,” she said innocently, then unbuttoned the top of the dress, knowing the red push-up bra she wore underneath did miracles for her cleavage. Unsurprisingly four eyes widened simultaneously, but she turned before they’d had their fill and dropped to her knees, making sure to let her hips and ass wiggle while she put more than enough elbow grease into scrubbing the large tub.

“Fucking-A, Lannister, I didn’t think this through,” Sandor mumbled behind her. Jaime’s reply was a grunt.

Once done with the tub she wiped down the floor, arching her back to present herself like a baboon in heat. It made the work a bit more painful, but it was worth it knowing her tormentors were experiencing some pain of their own.

Done with the floor she didn’t stand but instead remained kneeling, looking up at Sandor seductively, “What would you like me to do next?” she let her eyes flick to his groin for a second.

“No!” he said firmly, “you’re not getting out of this with sex! You lost, I won, and that’s that.” He crossed his arms defiantly.

“I wasn’t trying to get out of anything,” she pouted innocently before standing and proceeding to her own bathroom, hips sashaying.

As she entered her bedroom, she tsked, “Oh what a slob I am, I never made my bed!” she crawled up the bed on her hands and knees to straighten out the pillows and pull up the comforter.

“There we are, nice and tidy, just the way you like it,” she directed at Jaime.

As expected, Sandor was the first to break, stopping her before she got into the bathroom, “You need a break,” he said huskily.

She nodded sadly, “My feet hurt,” she lifted one up to rub against his leg, supporting her weight with hands on his chest. His own arms found her waist and held her against him as he kissed her breathless.

But too quickly he pulled away, “Break’s over,” he whispered in her ear, his voice like stone on steel.

_Fuck! This is backfiring!_

Jaime stared at him in open awe of his self-restraint. Feeling like she’d been duped she went about cleaning the bathroom, making her anger known in every movement.

“Did I ever tell you you’re sexy when you’re angry?” Sandor rasped.

“Fuck you,” she snipped back.

“Mm, talk dirty some more.”

She wanted to be mad, but couldn’t _not_ laugh…

By late afternoon she’d dusted the bedrooms, folded laundry, made the men turkey sandwiches for lunch, and even baked a batch of brownies (though, as a little act of rebellion, she licked the bowl and spatula herself before they could). She’d probably be exhausted if she weren’t so aroused, but that she could keep their attention for hours made her feel like the sexiest woman alive. Of course, the men were thoroughly enjoying not just the show but amusing one another with jokes that got progressively raunchier with each beer they consumed. Jaime threatened to have her change the oil in his cars (a lube job), while Sandor noted that there might be some clogged pipes that needed her attention.

Much to Sansa’s delight (though she complained, for the sake of pride) they also became increasingly amorous as the day wore on. Sandor’s kiss in the bathroom was the first example; later they each found opportunities to give her the occasional swat on the butt, a passing kiss on the neck, or a tug on one of her pigtails (yes, she was told to braid her hair into pigtails). After depriving them of brownie batter, Jaime even pulled her in for a rather steamy “chocolate flavored” kiss.

The part of her that felt like an independent, self-respecting woman tried to summon some sense of shame, but knowing that either of them would gladly prance around naked for her amusement made her feel like she wasn’t betraying her scruples… _much._

The most shocking revelation by far, however, was that Sandor seemed to have no qualms about seeing Jaime and her sharing the occasional intimate moment. In the past, his tolerance seemed to max out at a hug or chaste kiss, and Jaime never pushed to do more in Sandor’s presence. But something seemed to change between them after Thanksgiving night. Sansa couldn’t put her finger on it, but she suspected they had crossed the threshold from men who could enjoy each other’s company because they _had_ to, to genuine friends. The begrudging respect between them before graduated to something much deeper. Sansa was both pleased and excited about the potential effects this could have on her strange little family unit, though part of her was wary of trying to improve on perfection.

After a brief break, Sansa had only one more room to tackle – the den. She vacuumed the carpet, dusted the end tables, and straightened out the toss pillows and throw blankets before declaring triumphantly, “All done!”

Sandor just shook his head and pointed at the ceiling fan. She narrowed her eyes, “Is one of you at least going to be a _gentleman_ and bring me the stepladder?”

They appeared to deliberate before Sandor went to retrieve the requested item out of the pantry closet. As she climbed to the top step and began dusting the ceiling fan, Sandor growled behind her, “I’ve been waiting for this part _all day…”_ A snarky retort died on her tongue when his dusted the back of her thigh, which was now almost eye level with him. Instead a moan escaped her lips, quite involuntarily.

Strong fingers kneaded her fleshy backside and thighs teasingly before clamping around her waist, lifting her off the stepladder onto the plush carpet. She was now facing Jaime, Sandor’s hands still firmly on her waist. As Jaime’s lips found her mouth, Sandor’s found her neck.

_Holy fuck… am I dreaming?_

But there was no way this was a dream. And if it was, she never wanted to wake up… that was, until her brain caught up with her lust. “Sandor?” she whispered.

“It’s alright, Sansa,” he answered.

_Oh thank Gods!_

After passionate minutes of this, Sandor turned her head toward him and kissed her lips tenderly but heatedly. As he did, Jaime peeled off her dress, leaving her in only the bra, thong, and heels. He descended on her breasts like a man starved. Her one hand found Jaime’s head, threading into his corn silk hair, while the other cupped Sandor’s cheek as they continued kissing. If Sansa had any concerns about Sandor’s comfort with this situation, they were assuaged by the hard rod that was pressing into her lower back. She was overcome by the desire to touch him and did just that through the soft fabric of this sweatpants, eliciting a low growl.

Breathless from kissing and excitement she returned her attention to Jaime, who had straightened up and was peppering her left shoulder with those barely-there kisses that drove her mad. The contrast of coarse and hungry on her right side, and light and tender on her left side was making her dizzy with disbelief and need, but she was ripped back to awareness by Jaime’s skillful finger burying inside her and pressing against that sensitive bit of flesh, while palming her clit.

She dropped her head back against Sandor, who was still kissing her neck but also now had an arm wrapped against her waist to support her weight. In her euphoria she was vaguely aware of Jaime speaking, but she realized the words were not meant for her, “She’s fucking drenched,” he murmured. A low rumble from Sandor’s throat was his reply, emphasized by a quick nip of Sansa’s earlobe.

Though the men seemed to be enjoying this as much as she was, Sansa suddenly felt idle. With a vague notion of making their first threesome (holy shit!) memorable, she snapped into action, breaking Jaime’s contact with her long enough to pull his shirt off, taking a moment to stroke her hand down his toned chest and abs. She then unzipped his jeans, being sure to rub her palm against his hard shaft a few times. His eyes looked glazed as they sought hers again for a kiss, which she obliged but a moment before turning around and repeating the process with Sandor as Jaime worked to free her of her red throng.

And that’s where the panic set in… _are we really doing this? What are they expecting?_ To give herself more time to think she pushed Sandor down until he sat on the couch, naked and fucking gorgeous. She bent over to give him a few teasing licks before turning back around to kiss Jaime, pumping him in her hand as she did. But she felt at the cusp of something and wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Luckily Jaime seemed to have an idea as he backed her up to Sandor, who took the metaphorical baton when he guided Sansa down to straddle his lap, reverse cowgirl position. Perhaps more teasing was called for, but it was too tempting and too easy to impale herself on him immediately in one slick motion.

From Jaime’s earlier ministrations she was already primed up. Rolling her hips now against Sandor’s thick cock, she picked up right where she left off, and based on the hisses and grunts Sandor let out, he would not be far behind her.

Her hand was still pumping Jaime, and she was about to add her mouth when Jaime gently pushed her back until she lay against Sandor’s chest. A smaller man would have slipped out, but at least half of Sandor’s cock was still inside her. Sandor’s strong hands held her hips still as he rolled his up to her slowly. Sansa was ridiculously turned on by the idea that Jaime wanted to watch this, until a glint in his eye told her he had other plans. Dropping to his knees he spread her thighs even wider apart with his hands and flicked his tongue on her clit.

“Oh FUCK!” Sansa cried, the pleasure so intense that the words came out involuntarily. There was nothing teasing about Jaime’s motions, and it was over before it began. Sansa felt her channel spasm around Sandor’s cock, the sensations so intense both inside and out of her body.

 _So much for being an active participant._ In her bliss, strange thoughts filled her mind. That she might actually be dreaming. That she was the luckiest woman in the world. That Jaime’s tongue might have inadvertently touched Sandor’s shaft, and she found that oddly hot.

Sansa finally was recovered enough to participate again, and she did so by leaning forward and continue to work back and forth on Sandor’s cock while capturing Jaime’s lips with hers.

She let her eyes dart down to his cock, twitching with unmet need, “Please, Jaime,” she purred. He knew what she needed, like he always did – like they _both_ always did. He stood before her, fingers already threading into her hair and guiding her mouth to his weeping cock.

“Fuck, San,” he hissed when she took him entirely into her mouth without preamble, then slowly sucked all the way back until the tip came out of her mouth with an audible pop. Sandor grunted behind her, but she wasn’t sure whether it was her movement on his cock or the sight of her pleasuring Jaime that caused his sudden pulse of desire.

She continued sucking Jaime in earnest, using both mouth and hand to pleasure him, but rolling her hips up and down while moving her head back and forth proved to be a bit like patting your head while rubbing your belly. Wondering whether she should focus on pleasuring just one man at a time her thought was cut short when Sandor lifted her off of him and in one fluid movement laid her on her back on the sofa. Her head dangled over the armrest and when Jaime followed without delay, she knew why.

For long moments Sandor’s hands simply grazed over her body, caressing and kneading her womanly flesh, while Jaime fucked into her mouth upside-down. She couldn’t see anything and wondered whether the men were watching one another, looking at her, or having a silent conversation about how weird and/or awesome this was…

Once again, her musings were cut short, this time by Sandor lining himself up with her opening and pumping against her.

“Oh fuck,” Jaime mumbled somewhere above her. _My thoughts exactly._

Then Sandor was inside her again and Gods was it divine. One of his legs was bent beneath her, bringing her hips up to just the right height. Still over-sensitized from her first orgasm she felt the pleasure build quickly. Her panting and moaning were silenced by Jaime’s cock. Her belly fluttered wildly. She was so close… her right hand sought Jaime’s and her left sought Sandor’s, and it was holding onto each of them, _joined_ with both of them, that she came hard again, cries partially muffled by Jaime’s cock.

“Fuck, Sansa… I’m going to come…” she heard Sandor grunt moments before he thrust into her wildly. Seconds later Jaime issued the same warning, and she felt his warm seed shoot directly into the back of her mouth. Only when he stilled and withdrew from her mouth did Sandor lift her by the shoulders long enough for Jaime to plop on the sofa, then place her back down in her husband’s arm’s. She felt Sandor’s seed dripping out of her but decided not to care.

Sandor, still breathless, set to taking off each of her shoes, then sat back against the sofa, rubbing her feet as he put his head back and closed his eyes. Sansa reached for his hand even as she stayed nuzzled into Jaime’s chest. Finally taking a moment to think about how fucking strange this day had been, Sansa chuckled, “The maid’s off for the night; I’m not shampooing the sofa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... it happened. I was really ready to delay this a few weeks into the story, but I just went with it. I hope it lived up to everyone's expectations.


	39. Saime

Jaime drove home on December 9th – an otherwise unremarkable Wednesday that happened to be his 43rd birthday. He and Sansa would go out this Friday to a posh French restaurant, then Nate would spend the weekend at their house. Jaime wanted no other celebration. Frankly, he’d not _enjoy_ any other celebration, certainly not one that included his semi-estranged father, his sociopath of a nephew, or his drunk womanizer of a brother-in-law.

He still gritted his teeth every time he thought of Thanksgiving, and even worse – Thanksgiving _night_. He knew it could have been _much_ worse – even Sansa had seemed relatively unscathed after her initial shock and fear wore off – but the sight of coming home to find Joffrey hovering over Sansa had made Jaime snap. Though it wasn’t entirely fair, he traced everything back to his father. Holding his children to such high standards while simultaneously instilling a sense of entitlement had no doubt created three very unhealthy people. Cersei who married for money to a man with less class than a camel… Cersei who drank away her problems (not that Jaime was a saint in that regard) and didn’t even attempt to shield her own children from any of it. Tyrion, who – Jaime swallowed the lump in his throat that rose up every time he thought of his younger brother – Tyrion who convinced himself he was unlovable (Tywin certainly helped him reach that conclusion) and thus turned to drinking and fucking random women – often strippers or escorts – to convince himself he didn’t really _want_ to be loved, anyway.

And of course, Jaime himself – who followed his father’s detailed plan for his life to the point of running for Congress, marrying a stranger, and denying his sexuality. Despite very much enjoying his life with Sansa, Nate, and even Sandor, he recognized it wasn’t “normal”. What if Sansa and he decided to have kids? He didn’t want to pretend to be someone he wasn’t with his own children, but how could he ever be completely transparent with them? _“Hey, junior, don’t go into mommy’s bedroom tonight, she’s in there fucking Uncle Sandor. And by the way, Daddy’s going to have a sleepover at Uncle Nate’s…”_

Jaime shook away the fear surrounding something that may never happen. Instead he focused on where he stood, today. Surprisingly, Tywin hadn’t fired Jaime first thing Monday morning after Thanksgiving. In fact, he barely spoke to Jaime at all. Jaime knew his father was playing at something – did he think Jaime being ignored would drive him mad and he’d relent? Or was Tywin genuinely trying to give him space – had Sansa’s words actually registered with the strong-willed older man so that he realized his meddling was only driving his son away?

His relationship with Cersei was also strained after Joffrey showed up at her house bloodied and bruised. He made up a story about getting in a bar fight, but Jaime had already filled Cersei in on what _really_ transpired. Cersei didn’t doubt Jaime’s words, though she made excuses for Joffrey’s behavior, ranging from Sansa inadvertently leading Joffrey on, to him being so drunk he didn’t know what he was doing, to blaming it all on the example Robert set. Cersei’s blind spot for her eldest son was a source of confusion and anger for Jaime, and he decided space away from Cersei was best for him and Sansa at this point.

Jaime sighed as he pulled up to his home and slowed down to enjoy the festive sight. The front yard and porch were decked out in Christmas lights and decorations. A herd of reindeer made of sparkly gold metal wiring twinkled with thousands of tiny lights. The trees in the yard were covered in matching white lights. The bannister was covered in frosted pine garland. Blow-mold nutcrackers diligently guarded the front steps, while a family of snowmen greeted everyone who passed by. Jaime was instantly at peace – all worries of the day gone.

Coming home had been something Jaime came to enjoy after marrying Sansa, but after Thanksgiving their bond became even stronger. He still had a hard time classifying their relationship and thought best not to try to. She felt equal parts best friend and lover. Romantically speaking, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any other woman. Platonically speaking they were so compatible as friends it was uncanny – and only surpassed by her budding friendship with Nate.

And yet it wasn’t she that he missed during the day, or when away on an extended trip. No – Nate had exclusive claims to that emotion. Coming home and seeing Sansa after a long day made Jaime very happy. But seeing Nate walk through their door on a Saturday made Jaime’s heart flutter.

Thinking of the other leg of their table made Jaime smile. Their surly friend wasn’t quite as surly as he used to be, though surly was always part of his charm. Jaime thought back to the first time he met Sandor. Of course he paid the man little mind – he was just one of the Lannister/Baratheon retainers. Jaime supposed Sandor was in his late twenties at the time, though looked older because of the hate in his eyes. Jaime only remembered thinking his father was recruiting strong men from the circus to work security for him, and when he made such a joke, Tywin merely scowled (no surprise) and said, _“He is Gregor’s brother…”_

Jaime remembered instantly forming an aversion to Sandor upon hearing that. Gregor was not just big (taller and broader than Sandor), he was _mean_. He savored opportunities to intimidate and even hurt people – sometimes at Tywin’s behest, though generally Tywin tried to keep his hands clean of anything that could come back to bite him. Gregor was Tywin’s original bodyguard, the one who became a fixture of the household since Jaime was in college. Then one day when Jaime was about thirty-five Gregor was found dead. Jaime was pretty self-absorbed with his own problems at the time, but he remembered wondering if his father was behind it. Gregor had had a few altercations with women over the years – nothing Tywin couldn’t make disappear with money or influence, but had he grown tired of cleaning up after the man? Of course, it could have been a vengeful father, brother, or boyfriend of a woman hurt by Gregor. Hells, it could have been a man who was once roughed up by Gregor, or a woman scorned. Really, the list of suspects was quite long, and Jaime didn’t care who did it, or if they’d get away with it.

Jaime remembered seeing Sandor at his father’s house shortly after Gregor’s death. Apparently, Tywin saw something in the Cleganes, and Jaime now suspected it was loyalty and fearlessness, beyond their obvious physical attributes. They also were quiet and didn’t waste time with empty pleasantries, something Tywin Lannister appreciated. It was maybe the third time Jaime ever saw Sandor that he decided, despite never thinking very highly of Gregor, that he should extend his condolences to the younger Clegane. To this day Jaime could still remember the way Sandor turned his head very slowly, and practically growled out his response, _“The only thing you should be offering me condolences for is that I didn’t get to kill the fucker myself.”_

Jaime remembered his eyes widening and his mouth speaking something like _“Oh…”_ but Sandor continued, _“I take that back; I also regret that I’ll never know who killed him, cause I’d very much like to buy that man a drink.”_

Jaime blurted out the first thing that came to mind, _“Perhaps it was a woman.”_

A queer look flashed in Sandor’s eyes, _“Then I’d like to buy her a house.”_

Sandor never became Tywin’s full-time security as Gregor had been. He accompanied him on certain jobs, but by that point in life Tywin could largely rule the world from his corner office. People came to _him_ – not the other way around. Eventually Sandor worked for Cersei and (through Cersei) for Joffrey.

Jaime learned in passing over the years, mainly from Tyrion, that Gregor and Sandor were orphans and that their childhood was marred by tragedy. Jaime supposed Tyrion found this all out through a simple web search, but Jaime didn’t care enough to do any research of his own. Jaime reached his own conclusions about Sandor over the years, from the occasional interactions they had. 1) the man was not to be trifled with, 2) he had a giant chip on his shoulder, and 3) he had a dark and wry sense of humor that Jaime actually enjoyed.

Jaime pulled into the garage laughing to himself. If years ago some told him that he would one day have a threesome with Sandor Clegane, he’d have bet his own cock they were wrong. Of course it wasn’t a _true_ threesome, it was more accurately two men sharing a woman, but even such Jaime was blown away. Jaime killed the engine but remained in the car and thought about the three separate conversations he’d had regarding the _encounter_ …

The day after it happened, he spoke to Sansa whose cheeks were, unsurprisingly, redder than Rudolph’s nose. Of course, with Sansa, it was a lengthy conversation filled with unnecessary apologies and expressions of concern, but the gist of it was that she enjoyed the encounter a lot but wanted to make sure Jaime didn’t think she’d _always_ want to be with both men at the same time. It had never occurred to Jaime that it would be anything other than a one-time or perhaps once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence, and Sansa looked relieved to hear this.

The conversation with Sandor, which took place the night _before_ the encounter, Jaime recalled fondly. He had found Sandor in the den after Sansa went to sleep. Jaime plopped down beside Sandor but looked only at the TV, _“So tomorrow Sansa pays up.”_

_“Yep.”_

_“Gotta admit, I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”_

_“Mmhmm.”_

_“Just out of curiosity, I mean, so we can prepare ourselves, there is always the chance that…”_

Sandor shook his head, _“She won’t back out. She hates losing, but she always pays up.”_

_“No, I meant… well it’ll be a scantily clad woman, and two red-blooded men who each enjoy being intimate with said woman.”_

Finally he had Sandor’s attention, as the man turned to face him slowly as he’d done all those years ago when Jaime offered his unnecessary condolences, _“No way, Lannister. I ate the fucking pierogis, I won the bet, I’m fucking her tomorrow. You can call your boyfriend or jerk off or whatever you’ve gotta do, but there is no way I’m not_ _fucking her tomorrow.”_

_“That wasn’t what I meant, either.”_

Sandor ran a hand down his face, _“Then say what the fuck you mean.”_

_“I mean, hypothetically, if Sansa is open to it... Well, would you be open to… sharing?”_

Sandor blinked in shock and Jaime decided he had a ten-second window to escape with his life. But when Sandor spoke again Jaime literally blew out a sigh of relief, _“If she **wants** to, and I mean **really**_ _wants to – not just doing it to please us. And **I** get to fuck her, not you. And you will **not** touch my cock or kiss me.”_

Jaime struggled to contain his smirk, _“Kiss you **where**?” _

Sandor wasn’t amused, _“Let’s go with **anywhere**_.”

Jaime couldn’t stop his knees from pumping up and down in excitement. Sandor rolled his eyes, _“I’m gonna regret this.”_

The final conversation was the one with Nate that occurred the following Tuesday when the men had a “business meeting”. With a bit of trepidation, he told Nate that he and Sandor shared Sansa, and Nate looked at him queerly, no pun intended.

Much like Sandor’s reaction to Jaime and Sansa’s _thing_ with Ellaria and Oberyn, Nate was envious rather than jealous, _“You had SanSan without me?”_

_“Umm… you’d want to do something with me and Sansa and Sandor?”_

_“Ugh, I love Sansa, but no, I meant beef cake; just kinda assume they’re a package deal.”_

_“I thought **I** was your beef cake…”_

_“You are, just not when you’re standing next to **that**_ _dude.”_

 _“Gods, you’re such a bitch sometimes, I swear you took lessons from my sister, and by the way, don’t say ‘beef cake’… and for the record, Sansa was into both of us equally.”_ Jaime crossed his arms, confident based on Sansa’s actions (and moans) that she had very much enjoyed the attention of both men.

_“Soo… it was good then? Give me details!”_

Jaime did just that, though Nate scrunched his nose at Jaime’s mention of going down on Sansa, _“Ugh, I feel so conflicted. I mean on the one hand you had your mouth **super**_ _close to his cock. On the other hand, it was on Sansa’s tweeter, so…”_

Jaime rolled his eyes. Nate was proud to be ‘Vagina Free since 2003’, and it was hard for Jaime to relate to his ability to _never_ partake in the fairer sex, especially when, as an artist, Nate appreciated the feminine form so much.

 _“So, is this going to be weird for you?”_ Jaime asked.

This time Nate rolled his eyes, _“Jaime, you are not Sandor’s type, trust me. But I am going to have a talk with my kitten. I can’t believe the lucky bitch got to have both of you at the same time… ugh, long legs, cheek bones I’d kill for, and now she gets San-wiched.”_

Jaime rubbed his eyes, wishing for the first time ever that someone would be jealous over _him_ for a change. He had a few nice months when Sandor was, but once the guy accepted the fact that Jaime and Sansa would never be “in love” he seemed to have gotten over it.

 _“San-wiched?”_ was all Jaime could say.

_“Well, full disclosure, I’ve been wondering what it would be like to have a SAND-wich with you, but I know that’s never going to happen. He may be willing to dabble for his woman, but without her there…”_

At this point Jaime was just trying to see how far Nate would take his delusional fantasy, _“Alright, how about a **club** San-wich?”_

Nate perked up and began moving his fingers in the air, arranging an imaginary sandwich, _“Okay, that could work. It would have to be either me, you, Sansa, Sandor, or me, Sandor, Sansa, you…”_

Nate took a casual bite of his salad, but Jaime needed some reassurance, _“Nate – is there something wrong with us?”_

 _“Nope,”_ Nate answered assuredly, _“I think there is something wrong with everyone else.”_

The way Nate said it put no doubt in Jaime’s mind that he meant it, _“I think you’re right.”_

…

The Christmas music playing on the car radio cut off, signaling to Jaime that he’d been sitting with the engine off for at least five minutes. With a smile on his face he entered the house, immediately smelling a mixture of culinary delights. “Honeys, I’m home!” he called out.

“We’re in the kitchen!” Sansa’s voice tinkled like bells to match the holiday music that was playing on her Bluetooth speaker. He rounded the corner and found her and Sandor cooking together. Sansa was slathering bread with an obscene amount of butter while Sandor chopped cucumbers for a salad. Upon seeing him approach Sansa ran up to him like a happy puppy, “Hello Birthday Boy!” she beamed, then peppered his face – forehead, nose, cheeks and lips – with forty-three kisses, counting each aloud.

He led her back to the island with an arm around her waist, “Smells great,”

“We made your favorite: stuffed shells with a meat sauce, and salad and garlic bread on the side.”

Jaime nodded, “Well, I’m glad I got my forty-three kisses _before_ you ate the garlic bread.”

Sansa swatted him playfully, “Nate will be here soon.”

“What? Why? San, I said we would celebrate this weekend…”

“I know; this isn’t a celebration. It’s just four friends eating dinner together, and one of them happens to be having a birthday. In fact, here,” Sansa handed him a tray, “you can set the table. I wouldn’t ask you to do that if this were your birthday party, would I?”

Jaime took the tray of silverware, plates, and napkins and set the table like a good little boy. Sansa followed with a bottle of Cabernet and four glasses.

As expected, Nate arrived soon after, scooping Jaime into a big hug then doing the same to Sansa, “Cute sweater, kitten, LL Bean?”

“Yes! Six bucks at Goodwill – can you believe it?”

“Ugh, you make me sick… you could wear a paper bag and look like a million bucks.”

“Me? What about you with your mocha skin? You have every color in the rainbow at your disposal!”

“Is that a gay joke?” Nate teased.

Jaime left the _girls_ to chat and helped Sandor bring out the food. A few minutes later a comfortable silence fell upon them as they gobbled down the meal, washed down with a bold red. Nate finally spoke again, “This is delicious guys. And the house looks _great_ Sansa – I love the paper snowflakes and string lights you have all over the place, and the fake snow… it is truly a Winter Wonderland in here!”

Sansa grinned smugly, “Well I’m glad _someone_ appreciates it; Sandor said it looked like Kris Kringle ejaculated all over the place.”

Nate and Jaime burst out laughing in unison, both earning glares from Sansa, “ _Hey!_ Jaime – do you think it’s too much?” she asked with genuine worry.

“Nope! I love it. In fact, I think you should put up even _more_ decorations.”

Sandor groaned, turning to Jaime, “Do you hate me for some reason? You realize _I’m_ the one who has to get up on the ladder and hang most of this shit while _Master Elf_ here orders me around?”

“Hey! I always make it worth your while!” Sansa scolded him.

Nate waved a hand, “Girl, you better hope he never gets tired of sex.”

Sansa blushed, “As a matter of fact, today I used chocolate chip cookies.”

“ _And_ sex,” Sandor muttered around a mouthful of salad.

“Sandor!”

Nate and Jaime could not have been more amused. The latter had to compose himself in order to feign insult, “Wow, cookies _and_ sex. I thought it was _my_ birthday.”

“Don’t you worry, Jaime. I made your _favorite_ dessert for tonight!” Sansa offered proudly.

“Ooh – Tira Misu?”

“Your second favorite.”

“Cherry cheesecake?”

“Alright, your third favorite…” she blushed.

Jaime laughed, “I’m just messing with you; I smelled the German Chocolate cake when I came in.”

The rest of the night passed with plenty of laughter and cheer, and eventually they made their way to the den to listen to Christmas music and drink hot cocoa. Sansa’s mood became suddenly pensive, and she frequently darted worried glances at Sandor and Nate. When it continued this way for the better part of a half hour Jaime finally broke down, “San, you look like a teenager whose mom found his collection of nudie mags… what’s wrong?”

She chewed her lips, “Well we had a surprise for you, but I’m worried about what you’ll think.”

He felt his jaw clench, “Sansa, I told you didn’t want anything big for my birthday.”

“I know, it’s not for your birthday… I mean it _is_ … but we’ve been working on it for weeks and I thought now would be the time to tell you… but maybe it’s not…”

Nate came to her aid, “Sansa, he’s going to love it. Don’t get cold feet now.”

She nodded weakly, “Okay. But look, Jaime, if you don’t like this idea, we won’t be insulted… if it’s too much, just say so.”

“San, a million weird thoughts are racing through my mind… can you just tell me?”

She nodded again and disappeared upstairs, returning a moment later with a wrapped gift the size of a shoe box. She placed it in Jaime’s lap and sat beside him on the sofa, Sandor behind her and Nate on his other side. Jaime shook the package like a curious kid before peeling back the blue paper to reveal a letter box. Jaime looked at it, confused, “Sansa, if this is a deed to a private island, we might need to have a talk…”

She smiled but still looked uncertain. Her nervousness made him want to delay finding out what was inside, but he slowly lifted the lid to find a thick, leather bound document. Inscribed on the cover were five words in gold script: _The Jaime Lannister Equality Foundation._

He stared down at it, before turning to look at his companions, knowing his face bore shock. “What—” he started but couldn’t finish the question.

Sansa’s hands were clasped together, “Nothing’s been filed yet, but it is ready to go, with your approval of course. And you can change whatever you want. Or tell us if you think it’s a horrible idea… I just thought with what you had hoped to do in office that this might be another way to accomplish that…”

Jaime nodded, still trying to process everything. He began flipping through the multi-part document. There was a mission statement, articles of incorporation, by-laws, conflict of interest policy, funding guidelines. There were even applications filled out to obtain an EIN and tax-exempt status.

Sansa continued nervously, “Your lawyer has already reviewed it and said we will have no issue moving forward, assuming any changes you make aren’t significant…”

Jaime could still do nothing but nod. He flipped back to the first page which laid out the foundation’s mission:

_The Jaime Lannister Equality Foundation will fund programs and organizations that promote social, economic, and gender equality. Through education, empowerment, and political activism, the Foundation will work to achieve a society where no man, woman, or child is marginalized due to factors beyond his or her control._

The words were simple but perfectly encapsulated everything Jaime had hoped he could accomplish through a political career. He flipped ahead a few pages where he saw three proposed organizations that would be initial beneficiaries of the Foundation: YouthBuild, The Justice Project, and the Family Equality Council.”

Nate spoke up, “We each chose one. Sandor chose YouthBuild, Sansa The Justice Project, and me FEC. Of course there is room for you to add one, Jaims.”

Sansa nodded her agreement.

Jaime was still stunned but he could finally form words, “How did you--?”

Sansa blushed, “It was a group effort. We got together during Nate’s lunch breaks and worked on it. We each picked one of the three pillars and researched organizations that supported one or more of them… organizations that are very well regarded for their ability to impact change... We got the forms, and even have a list of potential donors who’ve agreed to be founding supporters. Oberyn was really excited… my friend Myranda – her dad is wealthy and so is her new hubby. When Sandor told Bronn what we were doing he insisted on donating $25,000 – the amount his mom left him when she passed away, which he used to buy his first rental property. Of course we didn’t take any money yet, since we wanted to make sure you were okay with all this first… and if you’re not Jaime, it’s really fine—”

Jaime silenced her with a chaste kiss then mumbled, “Sansa, stop talking…I’m not just okay with it… I LOVE it…”

She knitted her brow, “Really?”

He finally let his excitement through, along with tears of joy, “ _Yes_ , really! This is amazing! This is…” he shook his head in disbelief, “Guys – this is the greatest thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t even… I have no words to describe how grateful I feel right now…”

Nate placed a hand on his arm, “Jaims, you were the inspiration for this. We all respect you so much, and know you have the biggest heart in the world. And full disclosure, me and the big guy did help, but Sansa was the mastermind.”

Sandor nodded, “Yeah, she wrote all the formal documents and the lawyer said he barely had to change a word. And – side note – writing legalese gets her super horny. Don’t question it man, just go with it.”

Sansa blushed, “I took _Contract Law_ as an elective in college. Something about all that formal, unambiguous language, making sure to follow the rules…”

Jaime snorted, “I’ll have to psychoanalyze you later but for now I want to hear all about this!” Jaime pointed at the document again.

Nate smiled, “Well, Sansa and I want to be board members, and actually Oberyn expressed an interest. We thought each of us could also take one of the pillars and head up activities in that area, under your direction of course – you know, evaluate the organizations applying for funding or grants. I want gender, Sandor wants economic, and Sansa wants social. At least to start; if this gets big then we might need to actually hire people who know what they’re doing.”

Sansa smiled, “I also spoke to Brienne – don’t hate me! She thinks this is a great idea and I think this actually suits her. We spoke for over an hour, and if you agree, she could take on a role, perhaps administrative director… and,” Sansa bit her lip nervously, “I know we’re getting _way_ ahead of ourselves, but Myrcella said she’d like to work for us when she graduates, if there’s a spot. I told her we may be a long way off from hiring people, so she knows not to get her hopes up. She also has friends at school that are a year below her and would be looking for internships, if we need some free labor…”

A thought occurred to Jaime, and he couldn’t contain his smile, “What about development – who will be in charge of fundraising?”

Sansa nodded, “I remember you said you lost a couple finance directors on your campaign that couldn’t stand working under Brienne. Since they wouldn’t have to deal with Brienne directly, maybe you could reach out to one of them?”

“I was thinking more _you.”_

Sansa blanched, “Jaime, I don’t know anything about that stuff.”

“Sansa, you’re a natural. It’s just like sales. Besides, you’re passionate about all these causes and I’ve never met anyone more convincing when she’s passionate.”

Sandor sat forward, eyes uncharacteristically bright, “Sansa, he’s right! Remember how you got me to switch to organic cigarettes? And to wear boxer briefs instead of boxers? And now I can’t even leave the house without grabbing the reusable grocery totes just in case I stop at the store. And I stopped using plastic straws. All because of you.”

Nate nodded, “And what about what Jaime told us about how you were with Olenna and the Martells? You totally won them over…”

Jaime could see she doubted herself. He took her hands in his, “San, I know you can do it, and you’d be great at it, but you don’t need to decide now. But besides that, there is one thing about this plan that I _insist_ we change.”

“What?”

“It should be named after both of us.”

Her eyes widened, “No, Jaime, this is _your_ thing… I want to be involved, but—”

“Shut up, stubborn woman. I want this to be _our_ thing. We can merge our names together, or make an acronym out of our initials, or just call it the Jaime and Sansa Lannister Equality Foundation, or—”

“Ooh, ooh,” Nate clapped his hands together, “ _The Saime Foundation_ – combine the spelling of your names, but pronounce it as ‘same’…”

“Nate, you’re a genius!” Jaime gushed.

Sansa beamed, “So does this mean you’ll do it, Jaime? All you need to do is read this, make any changes, then we can submit the forms and get to work…”

“Of course I’ll do it! I can’t wait to get started! Oh, we can use the office I rented for the campaign to work out of – I have the lease through April. By then if things are going well with the Foundation I can reup the lease.”

Sansa jumped into his arms, “Oh Jaime! I’m so glad you like it!”

“I love it. You guys – you amaze me,” he looked at each of his companions in turn, hoping his eyes conveyed how special this was to him.

“Then this is cause for celebration, come on!” Sansa bounded for the back door, three men following her with curious glances until she retrieved a bottle of champagne and four plastic champagne flutes. Sandor did the honors of popping and pouring, and they toasted _The Saime Foundation_.

Unsurprisingly the bottle split four ways went fast, and soon Nate reappeared with four glasses of scotch, “Maybe you can come up with words that SAIME can stand for, so it has double meaning.”

The four of them set upon their task with silent focus, occasionally blurting out ideas that didn’t quite work, like Nate’s idea: “Social action is…” he paused, “my everything?” Three scrunched faces showed their reactions.

Sandor grinned mischievously, “Sansa’s _ass_ is my everything.”


	40. Oh brother

It was a week before Christmas and Sansa’s spirits were sky-high. Jaime was so happy since they showed him their plan for the foundation, and apparently Tywin hadn’t said anything more to him about the campaign. Sansa wasn’t sure what to make of that but decided to accept it on face value, knowing he was a man with which you always knew where you stood.

Sansa and Sandor spent all day baking cookies for Jaime to bring to the office and for them to give to neighbors and friends. Around 4 pm they were cleaning up the kitchen when the doorbell rang. They exchange a worried look. Nate would walk right in, Bronn would call first, and Cersei and Jaime were on shaky ground so a visit from her was unlikely. It was either a deliveryman or someone they would not want to see…

Sandor’s eyes narrowed and together they went to the door. Sansa noted the tension in his shoulders and wondered if he was expecting their visitor to be Joffrey or Tywin as she feared. When the door opened, it was indeed a Lannister on their doorstep, but not one Sansa ever expected to meet.

“Hello, dear sister-in-law! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!”

Sansa knew her mouth was agape but couldn’t help it. The unnaturally short man in front of her looked somewhat embarrassed, “I’m guessing the feeling is not mutual, though I shouldn’t be surprised.” His mismatched eyes darted to Sandor, though he didn’t address him.

“My apologies,” Sansa finally spoke, “I’m not displeased to meet you, Tyrion, though certainly shocked.”

He nodded, “Yes, I suppose it is rather rude to show up unannounced. In truth I picked up the phone to call Jaime about a dozen times in the past few weeks but could never seem to dial the number. I rather feared his reaction, though I realize that makes my showing up here unannounced seem even less sensical.”

Sansa remembered her manners, “Well, uh… would you like to come in?”

“If it’s not an imposition,” he answered, but was already stepping through the threshold. Sansa took his coat and scarf, eager to busy her hands, after Tyrion sat down a leather weekender bag.

“It smells delightful in here!” Tyrion said warmly, “And might I say, I recognize your _woman’s touch_ immediately… Jaime has never been so festive.”

“Yes, we’ve been baking all day.”

“Jaime is here?”

“Oh, no, he isn’t home from work yet. I meant Sandor and I…” she gestured to Sandor, “This is Sandor, our personal security and my driver… and as a nice bonus, he’s a fabulous cook.”

Tyrion looked at Sandor but spoke to Sansa, “Yes, we’ve met. Though I’d never imagined he was the type to bake cookies…”

Sansa chuckled and led Tyrion to the kitchen and put out a plateful of cookies, “Can I offer you a drink? Water, coffee, wine… _milk?_ ” she forced a laugh.

Tyrion smiled at her, “Actually, a glass of wine would hit the spot after my long flight.”

Sansa poured them each a glass of Cabernet. Sandor, deeming the threat minimal, excused himself.

Tyrion studied her, seemingly appraising her, “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“That obvious?”

“I’d suspect you’re a simpleton if you weren’t, and I’ve heard enough to know you’re not.”

“Heard from whom?”

Tyrion exhaled, “My niece.”

“Myrcella?”

“Only one I’ve got,” he smiled.

“Oh. I had been led to believe you weren’t in communication with any of your family members.”

“That’s true, with the exception of Myrcella. She and I were always close, and she’s the least intimidated by my father. I suppose Jaime has told you most of this…”

Sansa felt herself blush, “Actually, I only know that you and Jaime were very close, he was quite fond of you, but that there is something of a rift. I heard from Joffrey that you were paid off by your father to leave and never come back, if I may be so blunt.”

“That’s surprisingly accurate for Joffrey,” Tyrion rolled his eyes, “I never quite fit into Tywin Lannister’s definition of the perfect family. Unable to wedge me in or find some benefit for my presence, it was easier to shoo me away,” Tyrion waved his stubby hands as if chasing off pigeons.

Sansa was wary of how much she should say to Tyrion, so she resisted the urge to voice her agreement with Tyrion’s view of his nephew and father. She decided it was better to ask questions, “Why did you come back now?”

Tyrion looked past her as he answered, “I haven’t seen my brother in nearly four years. Frankly, when I left, he and I were not on the best terms… I thought he was turning into my father, and it was painful to watch. Everything since then has validated my concern, until I spoke to Myrcella a few weeks ago. She raved about Jaime’s wife, how she brashly stood up to her father and grandfather and brother – if I came only to commend you on that it would not be a wasted trip – but then she told me about Jaime’s decision to drop out of this farce of a campaign. The way she has been speaking about him reminded me of how Jaime was years ago. I suspected my brother was at something of a turning point, and I felt I might be able to come lend my support, lest my father get his claws into him again.”

Within minutes of meeting this man, Sansa felt strongly bonded to him by their mutual concern for Jaime. She couldn’t stop herself from clasping his hand, which made him jerk in surprise, “Tyrion, I won’t speak for my husband, but if this is truly your intent, I am very glad you came.”

\--------------------------------

Jaime’s day was winding down when his phone buzzed and Sandor’s name showed up on the screen. Jaime answered immediately, “What’s wrong?”

_“Nothing… I mean, it’s not Joffrey or anything like that, but I think maybe you should get home as soon as you can.”_

“Why? Is Sansa alright?”

 _“Yeah, it’s just…”_ Sandor sighed into the phone, _“your brother is here.”_

Jaime held the phone out and looked at it as if some explanation would appear on the screen. He shook his head, “I’m on my way.”

Jaime’s drive home was a blur. He couldn’t remember a single turn. His body was on autopilot steering the car as his brain raced a mile a minute. _Why is Tyrion here?_

His heart was racing though he couldn’t pinpoint the nature of his dread. Did something bad happen to Tyrion and he came to Jaime for help? Had he somehow run out of money and needed a loan? Had he come to tell Sansa her marriage was a fraud? Had Tywin somehow convinced Tyrion to come talk Jaime into continuing the campaign?

He pulled into the garage and headed straight to the kitchen, following the sounds of laughter.

_Of course Sansa would get along with him._

When he turned the corner Sansa stood, “Jaime, your brother is here,” she stated the obvious.

Tyrion stood, a look of uncertainty on his face as he approached Jaime but stopped a few feet away. All the questions Jaime intended to ask him died on his tongue. His little brother, his once-best friend, was standing before him in the flesh. In one fell swoop Jaime closed the gap, dropped to his knees, and pulled Tyrion into a hug, “I’m so sorry, Tyrion.” His voice broke with emotion. In his periphery he saw Sansa creeping around them, likely to give the brothers some privacy, but Jaime reached out to stop her, “Stay Sansa, we have much to catch Tyrion up on, and it’s time you heard everything, too.”

…

Over the next few hours the conversation never ceased. Sansa and Jaime told Tyrion everything about how their marriage came about – that it was orchestrated by their fathers, but that Jaime and Sansa had quickly come to be best friends. They left out the details about Nate and Sandor, but more out of respect to their partners than out of humiliation or fear – Tyrion, like Cersei, knew Jaime to be bisexual. Unlike Cersei, Tyrion knew that Jaime leaned toward men. Tyrion was the one person in whom Jaime confided this fact – about six years ago. It was one of the things that led to the rift that formed between the brothers – not because Tyrion judged Jaime, but because he believed Jaime should live his life, and Jaime (of course) refused to do so when it would mean defying their father.

Then Tyrion and Jaime filled Sansa in on how Tyrion came to be officially cast out by his family. There was a falling out between Tywin and Tyrion – one thirty years in the making. Cersei and Tyrion were never close, but Tyrion was surprised and hurt when even Jaime didn’t stand up for him. Jaime told Sansa all this with no small amount of shame. By the time Tyrion moved across the country he and Jaime were not on speaking terms. Since Tywin made it clear no one in the family should be in contact with Tyrion, it became easier to just forget about his brother and pour himself into his work. That was around the time Tywin first brought up the topic about Jaime running for office.

Tyrion shook his head, “When I heard about your campaign, I thought you were lost forever, brother... Officially under father’s spell. When I heard about your wedding, I was so angry. To let him interfere in your career was one thing – but in your love life? The hatred I felt for you before I left resurfaced. But I’ve heard from Myrcella on a few occasions. First about how much Myrcella liked your wife, but honestly, I thought she was just idolizing Sansa for her beauty or some other characteristic. But I heard about the Thanksgiving argument. Then about you telling father you would drop the campaign. I decided that day it was time to put the past behind me, and I hope you will do the same, brother.”

Sansa smiled at them both, seemingly eager to hear Jaime’s answer. He would not disappoint either of them, “Tyrion, there’s much I regret about my life up to this point, not least of which is my behavior toward you. I was indeed under father’s spell, but the spell has been broken.”

“Well, I’m gladdened to hear that, though curious as to what prompted this sudden about-face…”

Jaime looked at Sansa, “It was a _who,_ not a what…” Sansa blushed.

“Well now I’m even more curious to learn about my new sister-in-law.”

Jaime was happy to oblige him, “Quite simply, she showed me what a real family should be, what a happy home looks like…” He felt himself grin widely, “and most importantly, how to stand up to Tywin Lannister.”

“Details, details!” Tyrion begged.

Jaime recounted Sansa’s phone conversation with their father the day after Thanksgiving. Tyrion laughed heartily at Jaime’s narration, particularly about Sansa’s claim of having a ‘magical vagina’. Though it was a lighthearted conversation, Jaime soured when thinking about the true straw that broke the camel’s back – _Joffrey_.

“What’s wrong, Jaime?” Sansa asked, noticing his change in mood.

He shook his head as he turned back to Tyrion, “It wasn’t all so amusing. You should know, Tyrion, your characterization of Joffrey all those years ago was frighteningly accurate. I always thought you just saw the worst in him because you and Cersei didn’t get along, but…” he turned again to Sansa, whose smile had faded into a somber look. She nodded her permission for Jaime to continue, “Joffrey came here that night and attacked Sansa when she was home alone. Sandor and I arrived and took care of him, but the boy _cannot_ be trusted. I don’t know if you plan on meeting with Cersei while you’re here, but I’d caution you to keep a wide berth of Joffrey.”

Tyrion’s face reddened, “What do you mean he _attacked_ Sansa?”

Jaime sighed, “He’s been infatuated with Sansa since they met. He physically assaulted her and would have done worse if we didn’t arrive back in time.”

Sansa clasped his hand, “But you did.”

Jaime nodded, though his guilt over that day would never be fully assuaged, no matter how much he knew Joffrey was the real person at fault. He pressed a kiss to Sansa’s temple, “Let’s order a pizza and share some better news with my brother.”

They did just that, sharing a pizza, another bottle of wine, and many more laughs. They told Tyrion about the foundation, and Jaime could see just how impressed he was, particularly with Sansa. He even insisted on making a donation once the foundation was up and running, explaining how he’d made sound investments with his ‘pay off’ from their father, and was in a very comfortable position.

He regaled them with tales from his time on the west coast, making Sansa blush at some of the bawdier stories. He didn’t pretend to be humble, and Jaime didn’t fault him his bravado, knowing it existed to hide layers of insecurity due to his deformity.

Sansa must have been tipsy for she giggled, “Well it seems you and your brother have something in common besides your sense of humor.”

Tyrion hooted as Jaime’s eyes went wide, “Wife! This is hardly appropriate dinner conversation,” he mock-scolded her.

“Though most appropriate in present company, _husband_.”

Tyrion wiped a tear from his eye, “Hold onto this one, Jaime, or else I may just have to steal her.”

Jaime chuckled, “You’ll have to take a number. My friends prefer her company to mine, as does my sister, I suspect… Hells, our local bartender doesn’t bother hiding his plans to whisk her away to another country so they can live off my money together!”

Tyrion only laughed harder, “I shall have to meet that good fellow!”

More stories and laughter were exchanged until Jaime realized it was past midnight and he had to be up early for work. Sansa too was yawning as she addressed Tyrion, “Have you made accommodations, Tyrion?”

He shook his head, “Actually I hadn’t. I wasn’t entirely certain I wouldn’t be getting on the next flight out of town.”

“Then you can have my bedroom for tonight,” the words were out too quickly, but Sansa recovered well enough, “Jaime is an early riser and I’m a light sleeper… and, well, I suppose it won’t surprise you that given the way our marriage came about, maintaining separate bedrooms seemed like a wise idea. But I can tolerate my husband’s presence for the night,” she smiled.

“Glad to hear it, but if his _presence_ turns out to be unbearable, you know where to find me!”

Jaime shook his head, “Don’t worry, he’s only half serious.”

Sansa left to ready her room for Tyrion, leaving Jaime alone with his brother for the first time in years.

“Tyrion, I—”

“Save it, Jaime, there’s no need. I know we have much more to say to each other, but let’s end this evening on a happy note.”

Jaime smiled, “It’s good to see you, brother.”

Tyrion shrugged, “I know.”

\-----------------------------------------

Sandor should have learned to expect the unexpected by now, but as he sat at the bar trying to keep up with Tyrion (seriously, how can a midget drink so much?) he couldn’t help but wonder how the hell he’d gotten here. He’d never particularly cared for Tyrion all those years they knew each other, though in hindsight Tyrion had never done anything specific to earn his wrath. Sandor supposed it was because Tyrion was one of those people who liked to hear himself talk, but time spent with Sansa, Jaime, and Nate must have built up Sandor’s tolerance for chatter, because he was actually having a good time with Tyrion and Bronn in spite of himself.

Bronn and Tyrion hit it off instantly. Neither had a filter, and they both had a lifetime of crazy stories to tell, each one raunchier than the last. Sandor was content to sit back and be entertained as Bronn spoke about a foreign hooker he had while stationed overseas. She held his cock at knifepoint and stole his watch, money, and sunglasses.

Tyrion slammed his fist on the bar, laughing loudly, “Please tell me it was at least _after_ her services were rendered…”

Bronn gritted his teeth, “No, the greedy bitch.”

Tyrion shook his head, “Well I think I can best that. I once woke up in a stranger’s bedroom tied to the headboard… eventually the man of the house came home to find me in his bed. Luckily it wasn’t his wife who’d tied me up, though it took much persuasion on my part, and a trip to the ATM, to convince him not to toss me in the ocean.”

Bronn grinned, “And were you tied up _before_ or _after_?”

Tyrion scrunched his mouth, “I honestly don’t remember, though I like to think it was after… or during…”

Sandor rubbed the bridge of his nose, “How have your cocks not rotted off?”

Bronn shrugged, “Luck I guess.”

Tyrion raised his glass to that, “So what about you, Clegane? Surely a man of your… _stature…_ attracts a fair number of ladies.”

Bronn nodded, “Yeah, and given your personality they’re probably all crazies.”

Sandor shook his head, “Don’t like to kiss and tell; and definitely don’t like to get tied up or near-gelded and tell…” In truth, the kinkiest things he’d ever done had been with Sansa, and there was no way he could share that information, nor did he really want to.

Bronn looked to Tyrion, “I think he’s actually a monk in disguise. How he can follow Red around all day without a raging hard-on is one of the great mysteries of the universe.”

Tyrion pretended to be insulted, “Hey, that’s my sister-in-law you’re talking about.”

“And?” Bronn shrugged.

Tyrion’s frown curved upside-down, “And I’ve been wondering the same thing…”

Sandor waved them off, “Because I’m not thirteen, that’s how.”

Tyrion sipped his whiskey, “So how did you come to work for Jaime and Sansa, anyway?”

“I started working for Joffrey, that little cunt, after you left town. Eventually Cersei decided it was time for him to grow up, so I was promoted from babysitter to wifesitter.”

Tyrion stared at him but said nothing. Sandor was unsettled by his appraisal, but glad when he dismissed the topic, “Well, I’d certainly rather spend all day with Sansa than Joffrey. Anyhow, shall we get back? Sansa and Jaime will be home soon, don’t you think?”

Sandor nodded. Sansa and Jaime were at his lawyer’s office signing forms and finalizing things for the foundation when Tyrion asked Sandor to take him to the bar so he could meet “Bronn the Bawdy Bartender”. Tyrion, Jaime, and Sansa would all eat together tonight but early in the morning Sandor was driving Tyrion to the airport. Sansa and Jaime seemed disappointed he wasn’t staying through the holidays, but Tyrion hadn’t planned on an extended trip. He assured them he would come out for a few weeks early next year. Sandor was, of course, glad the little man wouldn’t be there for Christmas – which was in three days. Sandor was thoroughly looking forward to spending the day with Sansa, Jaime, and Nate. He’d never had a family Christmas, at least not since he was very young, and those occasions weren’t exactly festive. He was nervous, of course, about the gifts they’d exchange, but he thought he actually did a pretty good job and was, surprisingly, looking forward to seeing everyone’s reactions, particularly Sansa’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... yah, I wanted to bring Tyrion into play, though honestly I don't know how many appearances he'll make in the future. I just love writing Tyrion and Bronn.


	41. Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: these two chapters are as fluffy as fluff can be.

When Sansa found out that TJ’s mom would be working Christmas Eve, she insisted that Bronn bring him over to Chez Lannister for dinner. She wanted to invite TJ’s little sister as well, but apparently, she and TJ had different fathers and hers would have her for the day.

“What an asshole! The man was TJ’s stepfather for over two years and yet he won’t invite TJ over for Christmas Eve!” Sansa was taking her anger out on dirty dishes, which Jaime supposed was as healthy an outlet as any.

It was the day Tyrion left to go back to California – two days before Christmas – and Jaime was feeling kind of bummed. Funny how he could go nearly four years without seeing or talking to his brother, yet now the notion of not seeing him for a couple months felt unbearable. Sansa’s tirade about TJ’s former stepdad was a welcome distraction.

“Come on, hubby, we need to make this boy’s Christmas special…” she spoke as she pulled him with surprising strength toward the garage.

Twenty minutes later, Jaime was strolling the aisles of Walmart with Sansa and Sandor – who were more than happy to spend his money to spoil TJ. Sandor picked him out an entire arsenal of Nerf guns and ammo, Sansa picked out board games and Lego sets, and Jaime chose a top-of-the-line Razor scooter – going for quality over quantity. As they drove home, Sansa serenading them with Bing Crosby tunes, she suddenly gasped so loudly that Sandor actually hit the brake.

“What’s wrong?!” Jaime spun around, “Did we forget something?”

“No, I just realized I get to wrap more presents!” she squealed, clapping her hands giddily.

Jaime could relate to her joy; he found neat and methodical chores like ironing and gift-wrapping to be very therapeutic, “I _love_ wrapping presents!”

Sansa sat forward, suddenly serious, mouth agape, “That is the sexiest thing you’ve ever said!”

“Or the gayest…” Sandor mumbled.

Jaime threw his hands up, “Guilty on all charges!”

\---------------------------------------

Bronn and TJ came over at 3 pm for an early dinner of Sansa’s homemade mac-n-cheese (TJ’s favorite) and a honey baked ham. After a fun meal during which TJ caught them up on his report card (three As, two Bs, one C), Bronn asked about the foundation. Sansa described the charity Sandor had selected, YouthBuild, which helps kids who dropped out of high school learn employable construction skills by building houses for those in need. TJ’s eyes brightened, “I wanna build a house!”

“Then you have to drop out of school,” Jaime suggested, earning himself a Sansa glare.

“Don’t listen to him, TJ,” Sansa commanded, “he was born rich.”

When they moved into the living room after dinner, TJ’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, “Wow, your tree is huge! And look at all those presents!”

With an impish grin Sansa began pulling gifts out from under the tree and piling them on the oversized coffee table.

“You guys are opening your presents _now_?” TJ asked with a confused expression.

“No, but _you_ are.”

Jaime, Sansa, and Sandor only realized they’d gone overboard when TJ – a _kid_ – was embarrassed by how much they’d splurged on him. Sansa assured him they loved shopping and wrapping presents and they were happy to do this for him, to which he quirked an eyebrow and nodded, an expression Sandor had seen on Bronn’s face many times.

“Don’t feel bad, kid,” Sandor assured him, “Jaime was born rich and then only got richer, remember?”

His concerns successfully assuaged, TJ tore into the presents like – well, a kid on Christmas – oohing and ahhing at each one and expressing genuine gratitude. Though he clearly loved all the presents Sandor felt rather smug that he unboxed the Nerf guns first and opened fire on Bronn. A big kid at heart, Bronn grabbed a Nerf gun, took cover behind the loveseat, and returned fire.

With a conspiratorial look, Sansa, Jaime, and Sandor opened and loaded the rest of the guns, and soon the great Christmas battle commenced, with Jaime, Sansa, and TJ taking cover behind the sofa while Sandor and Bronn did the same behind the loveseat.

When one of Jaime’s shots missed its mark wide right, Sandor exposed himself to gloat, “Hah Lannister! Your wife’s a better sh—” before he could finish his sentence Jaime landed a kill shot smack dab in the middle of his forehead. TJ was hysterical at the sight, and on the brink of pants-peeing when Sandor made a dramatic death flop onto the loveseat.

Bronn crouched over him in mock anguish, “Don’t worry, brother, I’ll avenge you!” He picked up Sandor’s gun and stood up, one weapon in each arm, and unleashed his fury on everyone behind the couch. Eventually Jaime waved a white handkerchief in the air while singing _Silent Night_. The battle was done, Bronn was victorious, “Sorry, I take no prisoners… except Red,” he winked.

Fun now over, they all groaned when Sansa ordered them to clean up the darts while she went to get a tray of cocoa and cookies. They found darts in the Christmas tree, under the throw rug, in decorative vases, between the couch cushions, and even in the hallway. Jaime joked they’d probably still be finding darts next Christmas.

As they sipped cocoa by the fire, TJ keenly exploring all his new toys, it was rather relaxing and peaceful. Jaime felt a surge of pride at giving the kid a Christmas memory he’d probably remember forever. He pressed a kiss to Sansa’s hair, unable to suppress his joy another moment, “Thank you, Mrs. Lannister.”

She responded with a kiss to his cheek, “Thank _you_ , Mr. Lannister. It’s so much easier to spend your money on other people.”

He chuckled, “Good to know.”

TJ broke the moment by letting them all know how much he wanted to learn to shoot a real gun. Jaime might have been concerned but he knew it was fairly normal for a boy TJ’s age. A straight boy, that is.

Bronn sighed, “Well, maybe in a couple years, if you’ve kept up your grades, and your mom agrees, Sandor and I will teach you how to shoot. But you have to promise you’ll follow _all_ the rules we teach you. And when you’re older and have your own gun someday, you must _only_ shoot people who are threatening your life… or liberals.

Jaime rolled his eyes, but as usual Bronn’s unorthodox _parental guidance_ seemed to work. TJ nodded, “I know guns are not toys, Bronn. I just want to shoot a soda can. I won’t shoot anything but targets.”

“And liberals?”

TJ spoke in an adorably defiant tone, “No! No people or animals.”

Sansa leaned over and squeezed TJ’s cheek, “You are _such_ a good kid.” TJ smiled and blushed at Sansa’s praise. The kid clearly was soaking up all the attention and Jaime felt sad wondering how little positive attention he got at home. Bronn had described his mother as a good woman who, as a cashier by day and waitress most nights and weekends, simply couldn’t give her kids enough time.

“Mr. Lannister,” TJ pulled Jaime from his musings, “Can I ride the scooter outside?”

“Sure, kid. In the driveway only, not the street… too many people out and about at this hour who’ve had a little too much eggnog.”

Once TJ was outside, Bronn turned to Jaime and Sansa, “Is it weird that I want you guys to adopt me?”

“Nope,” Sandor answered for them, “It’d only be weird if _they_ wanted to adopt _you._ ”

“Oh!” Sansa jumped up from the loveseat, “I almost forgot!” she perused the gifts until she found the one she was looking for. It was wrapped in red foil, with silver and green ribbon around it.

She handed it to Bronn who looked confused, then ashamed, “You shouldn’t have bought me anything. What you did for TJ was amazing, I don’t need—”

Sansa put her hands out, “We didn’t spend a penny. Just open it.”

When Bronn unwrapped it, he found a hardcover copy of Oberyn’s book, _Flipping and Flopping: A practical guide to the do’s and don’ts of real estate investment._

Bronn opened the cover to find a handwritten note, which he read aloud: _“To Bronn: Thank you for being a fan. Best of luck with your investment properties. A friend of Jaime and Sansa is a friend of mine – contact me if you ever need advice, or if you’d like to swap crazy stories. -O.M.”_

Bronn sat in stunned silence for several seconds before his eyes bulged out and he launched himself off the couch, “Best gift ever! Do you think he means that?”

Jaime nodded, “Oberyn means what he says. We told him about the antics of our quirky friend and local barkeep. Truthfully, after hearing about how you started out your real estate venture after coming back from deployment, I think he admires you as much as you admire him.”

“No! Really?” Bronn was gushing like a prom queen. Jaime and Sansa just smiled and nodded.

“Well if the guy’s ever in town again, you guys _have_ to find a way for me to meet him. _Please.”_

Jaime chuckled, “You’re asking a lot.”

“Hey, you owe me a favor, Lannister – remember?”

Jaime nodded, “Indeed – and a Lannister always pays his debts.”

“Good, cause Bronn always collects!” Bronn pointed at his chest with both thumbs before looking down at his watch, “Shit, I’m supposed to have TJ back by 7:00… his mom’s leaving work soon.” Bronn made his goodbyes, giving “Red”, “Lannister”, and “Big Guy” each a warm hug in the driveway after they helped tote all the gifts out to his jeep. TJ thanked them profusely and promised to share the games with his little sister, along with the bag of gifts Sansa handed him of various dolls and “girly things”.

Sansa bit her lip nervously and turned to Bronn, “TJ’s mom won’t be mad or insulted by this, will she?”

Bronn shrugged, “Nah… maybe at first, but I’ll explain how you guys like to be generous. You know, white man’s guilt and all that.”

Jaime rolled his eyes as Bronn and TJ drove off. 

\---------------------------------

Nate walked into Jaime’s house just after 10 pm and was immediately surprised to hear nothing but low Christmas music. No Sansa laughing, no Jaime talking, no Sandor grumbling. He made his way to the living room and couldn’t decide whether to coo or laugh. The room was cast in a warm glow from the fireplace, the Christmas tree, and the candlesticks in the windows. The coffee table was littered with crumbs, napkins, empty mugs and plates. Two full size trash bags were filled with what looked like enough wrapping present to cover everything in Santa’s workshop.

But what made the sight truly special were the three people on the couch, dead to the world. Sandor was sitting against the corner of the sofa, more or less upright, with his feet on the coffee table. Sansa was snuggled into his chest, and Jaime was curled over her, using her hip as a pillow. It was too friggin’ cute and Nate had to snap a photo with his phone.

Nate sat and watched them, smiling, before deciding he needed to hear Jaime’s voice. He gently pushed his shoulder until he stirred, eyes taking a moment to recognize Nate’s face, at which point he smiled, “Santa – is that you?”

Sandor was next to wake. He winced as he pulled his feet off the table – no doubt suffering from pins and needles. Sansa mumbled something that may have been, “Stop moving,” but Sandor ignored her protests as he sat up and stretched his back, neck, and arms. Sansa was awake for real now and her eyes brightened when they found him, “Natey Cakes!” she squealed, “Merry Christmas.”

Nate chuckled, “It’s not midnight yet, kitten. Only a little after ten… you sure are a bunch of party animals,” he raised his brows.

Jaime laughed, “So how was your parents’?”

“Good. Too much food, as always,” Nate rubbed his belly, “Mom and dad are good. Nick was there with his new girlfriend. This one might be a keeper, but then again, it’s Nick, so…”

Jaime snorted, knowing Nate’s brother was a chronic bachelor, “It was good here, too. TJ had a blast, and Bronn wants us to adopt him.”

“So what’s all this?” Nate nodded at the sofa, “You guys trying to stay up all night and catch Santa?”

“No, just too full of cookies to make it up the steps to bed. We thought we’d wait up for you, but I guess we didn’t do a very good job.”

“It’s alright, that was priceless,” Nate showed Jaime the photo he snapped.

Nate noticed Sansa was uncharacteristically quiet. He looked to find her sitting in Sandor’s lap as he stroked her back, her wet eyes glistening in a way that was both sad and beautiful.

“What’s wrong?” he called over to her.

She shook her head, but it was easy enough to guess that she was thinking of her family. Nate voiced his suspicion and immediately regretted it as the tears in her lashes finally fell, and she turned to bury her head into Sandor’s neck in shame.

Jaime ran to her and kneeled down, placing a hand on her thigh, “San, I’m so sorry… I wasn’t even thinking about how rough this time of year would be for you…”

Nate’s heart ached for both of them. Jaime had confessed to feeling guilty that their marriage had driven a wedge between Sansa and her family. He knew Sansa was happy with her new life, but he wished they had handled it some other way – perhaps meeting before the plans were finalized so her family would get a chance to see Jaime and Sansa were compatible.

“It’s not your fault, Jaime. I wasn’t even really sad, I was just remembering how, once Rickon was old enough to stop believing in Santa Claus, all us kids would sleep in the den together in front of the tree on Christmas Eve. Even Robb and I would come home for Christmas and do it after we moved out. Sometimes my parents would sleep on the sofas while we all slept on the floor. I just realized it’ll never happen again… or if it does it’ll never be the same.”

She wiped her eyes and pivoted to address both Jaime and Sandor, “Sorry… you guys must think I sound so stupid and selfish… you guys had to go without such memories, altogether. I suppose I should just be thankful that I had those experiences, and that now I have other experiences just as nice…”

“Hush, Sansa,” Sandor scolded, though it lacked bite, “You aren’t selfish. You want _everyone_ to have those kinds of memories, not just yourself. And I don’t resent you for having what I didn’t. It makes me happy to know that all those experiences made you who you are today, and now I get to be with you and make our own memories.”

Sansa bit her lip but nodded. Jaime spoke some words to her which Nate didn’t hear, for he had slipped out unnoticed and headed toward the upstairs closet. A minute later he reentered the living room with two comforters, two blankets, and several bed pillows. Sansa squealed in delight as he slid aside the coffee table and began arranging two makeshift beds on the floor.

They all brushed their teeth and changed into their PJs like good little boys and girls, then returned to the living room. Of course the three of them had renewed energy after their nap, so Nate wasn’t surprised when Sansa and Jaime began chatting his ear off, telling him all about their day with Bronn and TJ, their surprise visit from Tyrion, and their meeting with the lawyer to officially file paperwork for SAIME. Nate began dozing around midnight, only aware of the time because Sandor checked his watch and wished them all an official Merry Christmas.

Jaime’s arms wrapped tighter around Nate, and his five o’clock shadow scraped the nape of his neck as he whispered for only him to hear, “Merry Christmas, baby.”


	42. Christmas Day

“Well, this makes it official,” Jaime smiled with faux arrogance, holding his travel mug out for all to see. Sansa gave it to him – it was dark green with the words _Best Husband Ever_ in gold lettering. “I think it would be most appropriate for you to open this one next,” he handed her a small gift bag and she pulled out and unrolled a light pink t-shirt bearing the words, _Best Wife Ever._

Sandor rolled his eyes from where he watched on the couch, “You guys are nauseating, seriously.”

Sansa laughed but turned back to Jaime, “If you think I won’t wear this out of the house, you’re wrong.”

They’d been mostly exchanging small gifts up to this point, and Sandor found it both odd and adorable that Sansa _really_ was obsessed with gift-wrapping and gift-giving. She literally wrapped the packs of gum and razor cartridges she put in Jaime’s stocking and the Snickers and Reese’s she gave to Sandor and Nate. She wrapped a value pack of Hanes boxer briefs for Sandor, and Calvin Klein undershirts for Jaime.

Sandor just shook his head, “I was _with_ you when you bought these boxers.”

“I like to wrap presents, okay? And _you’re welcome,_ ” she stuck out her tongue.

Next they moved onto the bigger and more personal gifts. Sansa gifted Sandor an original Nintendo system complete with his favorite games: Super Mario Bros. I, II, and III, Megaman II, and Marble Madness. He smiled at realizing she remembered a conversation they had months back, then laughed when he unwrapped Excitebike and Legend of Zelda, “I seem to recall these being _your_ favorite games, not mine… already got designs on my Nintendo, do you?”

Sansa shrugged, “Maybe.”

Jaime looked to Nate, “Do I sense a Nintendo challenge coming up? Loser has to do something _really_ embarrassing?”

Sansa smiled, “I wouldn’t call it a _challenge._ I will kick his ass in Mario Brothers.”

Sandor shook his head, “Are you fucking serious? Which one?”

She shrugged, “All three.”

“Look, I’m humble enough to admit you might beat me in Mario 2, but there is no way you’re beating me at 1 or 3.”

Jaime looked unusually invested in their good-natured competition before retrieving a small gift from beneath the tree, “I think this is an opportune time to present this particular gift. It’s for Nate and Sansa.”

Sansa stood by Nate’s side as he unwrapped the paper and opened the slim box, pulling out four tickets. Sansa’s eyes darted to Sandor, “Oh, this is going to be EPIC.”

“What?”

Nate held out the tickets for Sandor to see. They were four tickets to the KISS concert next year.

“No. No fucking way,” Sandor crossed his arms.

Jaime smiled, “I figured Sansa has over a month to find something to challenge Sandor in.”

“No, I won the pierogi eating competition fair and square, Lannister.”

“You did, indeed.”

Sansa pointed her finger at Sandor, “I challenge you to a Mario 3 competition; whoever gets further before dying wins. I’ll even be Luigi.”

Sandor considered his odds. He knew he was a beast at that game, in particular, though Sansa’s confidence was disconcerting.

“And if I win?” he asked.

“Well I’ve already dressed up as a maid and cleaned the house. Perhaps you’d like me to dress up as a nurse and give you a sponge bath?”

“Hah fucking hah.”

“Okay; a prostate exam?”

“You’re going in the wrong direction.”

“Well, what’ll it be then?”

Sandor narrowed his eyes, “I need time to think.”

“Fine, but if _I_ win, you’re dressing up as The Demon and coming to the KISS concert with us.”

Nate and Jaime clapped like a pair of cheerleaders at a pep rally.

Sandor’s eyes narrowed, “Well, while I think it over, I think I’ll give Nate _his_ gift.”

Sansa’s cheeks reddened as Sandor retrieved the gift from beneath the tree. After Nate opened it, he looked between the pair with a confused expression, “Umm… a polaroid photo of Sansa giving me the finger?”

“Turn it over,” Sandor answered without taking his eyes off of Sansa.

Nate did as told then read the words aloud, “The bearer of this photo is entitled to paint one Mrs. Sansa Lannister fully nude. You’re welcome.”

Nate looked up at them with barely contained excitement, “Is this a joke?”

“Nope,” Sandor popped the ‘p’. “Miss Smarty Pants said I couldn’t eat an entire serrano pepper a couple weeks ago while we were making salsa. Knowing Christmas was around the corner and I had no idea what to get you, I capitalized on the situation and bet her I _could_ eat the pepper, and that if I was successful she would have to pose nude for you as you’ve been begging her to do.”

Nate looked truly touched as he threw his arms around Sandor’s neck, “This is the best present ever!”

Sandor shrugged, “I know. For the record that fucker was hot, I could barely get it down. And nothing tasted right for two days afterwards.”

“What if you couldn’t eat it?”

“Then I was to be your model. That was a pretty strong motivator to win… no offense.”

Nate gasped, “You mean I came _this_ close to getting to draw _you_ naked?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Well, now this only feels like the second-best present ever.”

“Hey!” Sansa and Jaime chirped simultaneously.

Nate looked not nearly ashamed enough, “Well, I get to see you naked all the time, Jaims. And Kitten, well… can you really blame me?”

Sansa looked at Sandor. “ _No_ ,” she huffed impertinently.

“Here, babe, this will make you feel better,” Sandor handed her a wrapped bundle while trying to hide his pleased smirk.

She tore open the paper to reveal a vintage style T-shirt, with a picture of ALF and the words ‘Alf says eat more pussy’. She laughed so hard she snorted, “If you think I won’t wear this out of the house, you’re wrong!”

After their laughter subsided, Sandor presented Jaime with a large and heavy box. As Jaime began to protest Sandor interrupted him, “I know you and I said we wouldn’t exchange gifts. This isn’t a gift; this is me paying back what’s owed.”

Jaime opened the box and began pulling out bottles of high-end scotch from around the world that Sandor had curated himself. “I crunched the numbers, Lannister. Since I’ve been living here, I’ve drank twelve bottles of your scotch.”

Jaime chuckled, “I think your estimate is low, my friend.”

“Well, I’ve also rescued you from spiders, unclogged the food disposal, and gotten red wine stains out of your dress shirts a couple dozen times, so I think we’re even.”

“But I let you fuck my wife,” Jaime offered, eyebrow arched wickedly.

“No, _I_ let _you_ fuck my girlfriend.”

“Ooh,” Sansa wiggled into the couch, “Are you guys going to fight over me? Because that would be _hot.”_

Jaime and Sandor stared at each other for a few seconds before responding in unison, “Nah!”

“Assholes!”

“Don’t worry kitten, if I was straight, I’d totally fight over you.”

“Aww, Natey cakes! That makes me wish you _were_ straight.”

“Ah for fuck’s sake,” Sandor mumbled, “Open one of those bottles Lannister.”

While Sandor and Jaime sampled one of the scotches, Nate brought over a large, flat box and presented it to Jaime. Sandor could guess what was inside it, though as eventful as the past couple months had been, he’d forgotten about it up until now. Sure enough, Jaime unwrapped it to find the completed, framed painting of Sansa in her Faye Dunaway pose. Sandor was stunned by Nate’s talent. Even Sansa gasped. Jaime was the first to form words, “Nate, this is _amazing_. I can’t wait to hang it.”

“Glad you like it, Jaims.”

Jaime shook his head in amusement, “Wow… do I have the best boyfriend, or what? Gifts me a painting of my beautiful wife... There is something wrong with us, but I can’t force myself to give a damn!” The others laughed, no doubt feeling he’d captured their sentiments exactly.

Sansa presented Jaime with a scrapbook filled with memories from their short but already eventful marriage. The photos captured Sansa and Jaime at their wedding and honeymoon. The Perfect Weekend (including the great crab massacre). There were photos taken during Myranda’s wedding and their weekend at Sunspear (Sandor complaining that they failed to capture the best part). The Great Pumpkin Competition and Jaime and Sansa’s Top Gun costumes were also featured. In addition, several random shots were sprinkled throughout. A selfie Sansa and Nate snapped at the Springsteen concert. A photo of Sandor and Jaime asleep on the couch. A photo of Sandor driving the tank looking like he’d just found heaven. A photo of Cersei ruffling Jaime’s hair one night when she and Myrcella came over for dinner. A photo of Jaime and Tyrion at the kitchen table with three empty wine bottles between them. A photo of Sansa midair captured just after Sandor had picked her up and launched her into the pool. A photo of Sandor arm wrestling Bronn, with Sansa and TJ trying to help Bronn. There were pictures of the lake at sunrise, of the house decked out with fall decorations, of Sandor holding the penis-shaped gourd with a chagrined expression on his face, of Nate and Sansa dancing on the patio. Of a plateful of pierogis about to meet their maker. Of Jaime’s bloody knuckles after he beat the crap out of Preston Greenfield and Sandor insisted they get photographic evidence of the fact that Jaime Lannister is, indeed, a man.

Sandor and Nate watched over their shoulders as Sansa and Jaime flipped through the pages together, occasionally they would chuckle at a particularly funny photo, or coo at a particularly sweet one. The second to last photo was a group shot of the four of them that Sansa insisted they take, using her camera tripod, to commemorate the Perfect Weekend. Sandor remembered grumbling about it at the time, but now he felt proud to have been in it.

The final photo was one of Jaime singing into a spatula as he cooked breakfast, donning his signature blue apron. The only adornment on that page was a kiss mark Sansa made with fire-red lipstick. When Jaime was done looking through the photos he moved in for a real, Cherry Chapstick kiss. He turned to Nate and Sandor and smiled at them warmly before turning back to Sansa.

“Hard to believe it’s only been, what, six months?”

Sansa smiled, “I can hardly guess what the next six months will bring.”

Sandor chuckled, “Knowing you two there’ll be a whole lot of tears and a whole lot of laughter.”

Nate elbowed him playfully, “And some nude modeling. And a _really_ fun KISS concert.”

Jaime passed Sandor a knowing glance, “I happen to know that there will be a new victim of Sansa’s photography… Shall we?”

“We shall,” Sandor nodded once.

“What’s going on?” Sansa asked.

Sandor picked up his phone and dialed Bronn, “Bring in the present.”

_“About fucking time, I’m freezing my balls off out here.”_

“I didn’t know you had balls.”

_“Hah hah… just unlock the door.”_

They led Sansa to the foyer and Jaime covered her eyes as Sandor opened the door. A shivering Bronn came in, shaking a light dusting of snow off his shoulders. In his arms was a gray and white furball with blue eyes and a bright red bow tied around its neck.

“Open!” Jaime commanded.

As soon as Sansa opened her eyes they lit up, “A puppy?!”

“Mmhmm,” Jaime answered.

Sansa cooed and gushed over the puppy, practically ripping it out of Bronn’s arms. “Nice to see you, too, Red,” Bronn mumbled.

Sansa yelped in delight, cuddling the puppy to her chest and giving – and receiving – kisses.

“It’s ADORABLE!! What breed is it?”

“A Pomsky,” Jaime stated proudly.

“What’s that?”

Jaime then explained it was a Husky-Pomeranian mix. He and Sandor had picked it out together, researching dogs that would suit their lifestyle and Sansa’s preferences. They knew she liked fluffy dogs and she had also told them that growing up she liked training their family’s pet dogs to sit, fetch, roll over, and do many other tricks. This breed was said to be obedient, intelligent, and good-natured. It would grow up to look like a miniature husky, so Sansa could take it places in the car more easily than a larger dog.

To all their surprise Sansa swiped a hand under the dog’s bottom, “It’s a girl! Oh how precious she is!”

Jaime snorted, “Uh, we could have told you that.”

“Does she have a name?”

Sandor nodded, “At the pet store they called her Lady, but she’s young, you can change the name… ya know, in case _Tramp_ proves to be more fitting.”

Sansa admonished him with a look, “No, she will be a proper lady!”

“So nothing like her mother?” Jaime joked, earning his own eye-scolding.

“Thank you both so much! I can’t believe you put so much thought into it, but I’m so glad! She will be the _perfect_ dog; I just know it!”

Sansa carried the pup around, giving her a tour of the house that no doubt was meaningless to the critter. “Here is our Christmas tree… and here is the patio – we’ll go out there later… here is the kitchen where Mommy will make your breakfast and dinner… oh we’ll need to buy you some nice doggy dishes, and a little place mat… oh and we need to get you a bed and toys and some little bows for your pretty hair… oh and little pee-pee pads for you to use until you’re housebroken. Daddy will not like it one bit if you pee on the carpet!”

As Sansa’s voice drifted further away the men ventured to the kitchen to make drinks and start dinner. Jaime invited Bronn to stay – Sandor was making a Roast Beef with mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. Bronn shrugged, “I was going to spend the rest of the day enjoying my presents, but sure, I wouldn’t mind company.”

Sandor eyed him skeptically, “Who gave you Christmas presents?”

“I gave _myself_ presents. A $200 bottle of bourbon and a premium subscription to Pornhub.”

Nate rolled his eyes, “Well that’s _one_ way to spend the lord’s birthday...”

Bronn was completely unfazed, “Hey, there is no commandment against porn or booze.”

Sansa appeared from the stairs leading up from the den just in time, “Thank goodness, or else we’d all be going to hell!” She disappeared through the patio doors with Lady before anyone could form a response.

Bronn clamped Jaime’s shoulder, “You’re a lucky man, Lannister, and not just cause you’re rich.”


	43. In this together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realized that I made Jaime 39, which means Cersei is 39, which means Cersei had Joffrey when she was fourteen. Since this fic is all for fun I considered not worrying about it but I couldn't... so I edited the Jaime birthday chapter to make him turn 43 instead of 39... That still isn't perfect since it made Cersei ~18 when she had Joffrey, but let's just go with it. Maybe she let herself get pregnant to trap Robert into marrying her since she wanted his money. If it helps you to think of Joffrey younger or Cersei older, be my guest, but I didn't want to make Jaime that much older than Sansa and Sandor. As a reminder, in this fic Sansa is 28, Sandor is 35 or 36, and now Jaime is 43. I picture Nate being close to Jaime's age, but a few years younger - maybe 39 or 40.

Sansa woke the day after Christmas with not a care in the world – except for the puppy that was whimpering from the bathroom where Sansa kept her last night until they could get a proper crate and pee-pee pads. She bundled up and brought Lady to the back yard, excited to see everything coated with a couple inches of newly fallen snow that Lady seemed to love. Sansa was glad it was a Saturday so they could all hang out together – a winter edition of the Perfect Weekend.

It was only dawn, but she knew the men would be up soon, so she set Lady down in the kitchen with some kibble (Sandor and Jaime had the foresight to get at least that much) and set to work. She brewed a pot of coffee then dumped the leftover mashed potatoes into a heavily buttered pan to fry up. Next she cut thick slices off the leftover ham and fried that up as well while she worked on scrambled eggs with chives and cheddar. It didn’t take long for the aroma to wake up her companions, who filed into the kitchen in their pajamas. Jaime wore maroon button-up PJs that were fancier than some men’s suits. Sandor had on basketball shorts and a ribbed tank, and Nate had on flannel pants and a faded U2 T-shirt. Sansa herself wore leggings and a cami tank under her cotton robe. She couldn’t help but smile at how each of them looked so… _them._

At taking in the veritable smorgasbord on the stovetop Jaime stopped, “Who are you woman and what have you done with my wife?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, knowing she deserved the spoiled housewife reputation she had among this group, but marveling at how different it was from her nature. She’d always been a workaholic. Being single, she had little reason to cook lavish meals for herself, but she surely didn’t wait for some man to feed her – nor did she depend on men for money.

“Shut up and drink your coffee, grouch,” she retorted as she set to her next task – cutting up the pineapple. “And eat your fill, boys, we have a grueling day of shopping ahead of us.”

Sandor and Jaime looked horrified. “What could you possibly need to buy the day after Christmas?” Sandor asked.

“Lady needs a crate, a bed, toys, pee-pee pads, food dishes, an ID tag for her collar, treats… ya know, the usual.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “I had dogs growing up – you know what they had? A leash and dog food. You want a toy for her, get a stick from the yard – nature has provided an abundance of free dog toys!”

“Great idea, and why don’t we just trade in our cars for bicycles? And get rid of the Maytag in place of a wooden washboard. And we can take baths in the lake. Let’s just forsake _all_ modern conveniences!”

Sandor shook his head, “Lannister, wanna rock-paper-scissors over who takes her to Petco?”

Nate waved him off, “Let the grumpy old men stay home, kitten, I’ll go to the store with you.”

“Great idea! We’ll leave this mess here for them to clean up, too!” Sansa stated victoriously.

Nate quirked an eyebrow, “If that’s supposed to be a punishment…”

…

Sansa’s mood hadn’t dampened after spending the whole morning shopping with Nate, though she knew she was in for some teasing when Jaime and Sandor saw Nate’s entire trunk was full of practical and impractical supplies for Lady. Sansa bought not one puppy bed but two so that she’d have one in the den and one in Sansa’s bedroom. She bought a pink harness and matching leash and heard many ‘awws’ at the store when she tried it on Lady. A brush, nail clippers, and a collapsible water dish for travel were among the purchases made that weren’t on her original list.

After a quick stop at Target so Nate could exchange unwanted gifts, they were pulling into the driveway when Sansa’s stomach dropped. Parked in front of the large porch was Tywin Lannister’s white 7-series BMW.

“Shit!” Sansa cursed, “You better hightail it, Nate, I’ll call you when the coast is clear.” Sansa having a male friend certainly wouldn’t be inappropriate in the 21st century, but Tywin knew of Nate through his firm’s work with Casterly, and he’d no doubt wonder how Sansa came to befriend him – and why Jaime hadn’t joined them on their outing.

Nate’s eyes were bugging, “Yeah, good idea… take one of the bags so you can explain your absence, I’ll bring the rest back later.”

Sansa was barely out of the car when Nate sped away. She looked down at Lady’s cheerful face, “I hope you’re a good guard-dog, cause I’m about to need one.” With a deep breath she pushed the door open, only to find it being pulled open from the other side. She was then face-to-face with Tywin Lannister on the porch. His green eyes moved from Sansa’s face down to the dog in her arms and back up again. A look of confusion gave way to a scowl.

He took a step closer so he was looking down his nose at her, “Jaime _hates_ dogs,” he sneered.

Sansa was speechless, feeling like she’d just been smacked in the face. She could do nothing but follow him with her eyes as he strode calmly and confidently to his car, turning to face her just before he opened his door, “I hope you’re happy with yourself, Sansa,” he said, the words dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

When Sansa stepped inside, she was trembling, knowing that whatever Tywin’s reason for coming here was, it was _not_ to bury the hatchet. She stood in the foyer, wanting to delay whatever she was about to find out for as long as possible. The very air was thick with anger. She stroked Lady’s fur, trying to calm her dread, but flinched when she heard the sound of something being thrown in the kitchen.

Summoning courage she walked quietly toward the kitchen, where Jaime was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, hands buried in his hair.

“What happened, Jaime?” her small voice asked.

Jaime turned, startled, then shook his head. With a snort he answered, “Tywin Lannister won. Again.”

Panic filled her veins, but she knew Jaime was trying to restrain himself for her sake, so she did the same, approaching him like he was a skittish cat to take his hand. He accepted the gesture but there was no warmth reciprocated. Now Sansa _really_ wished that Tyrion had stayed through the holidays; Jaime could use another ally.

She didn’t ask any questions – knowing Jaime would tell her in time. Eventually he did, pointing to a document sitting on the kitchen counter, “Want the Cliff’s Notes version? My dear old dad, deciding the risk of you gelding his son and heir is rather low, is planning to make a motion to the board of Stark Enterprises to have your father ousted as CEO, then he’ll force your father to sell what’s left of his ownership interest in the company… There will no longer be any _Starks_ at Stark Enterprises.”

“What? That would be foolish – people love my family; they won’t want to do business with the company if—”

“Don’t be naïve, Sansa. It’s a company, not a social club. Clients and suppliers will still do business with Stark because they rely on it. People will still work at Stark because they need a job. There aren’t many other big corporate gigs up north.”

“But… but why?”

Jaime snorted, “Why do you think?” he now stood with his arms crossed, making a physical and emotional barrier between them.

“Because you aren’t running for office. He wants his bought-and-paid-for Congressman and he’s doing this to punish you… or to force your hand.”

“Bingo,” he replied, as joylessly as she’d ever heard the word uttered.

“So what are you going to do?”

“What do you think? I’m going to continue with the campaign.”

“But Jaime it doesn’t make you happy!”

Jaime quirked a brow, “Do you Starks only do things that make you happy? Never do things because you need to?” his huff told her what he thought of such a philosophy. Though it wasn’t really true of her family, she decided to ignore his cheekiness for now, knowing his anger was really for his father.

“Jaime – you don’t _need_ to run. There has got to be another way.”

“San, there’s not. We have no leverage. You have no leverage. My father has given me a week to let him know my choice, but I don’t need that long. I’ll tell him on Monday that—”

“NO! Stop. There _is_ a choice. If you choose to go forward with the campaign, it’s going to make you miserable, Jaime.”

“And if I don’t then _you’ll_ be miserable.”

Sansa realized his implication – he was assuming she wanted to keep her family’s business from falling into Tywin’s hands, and that she was willing to do it at any cost. He was right about the first, but not the second… not anymore.

“No, you listen to me Jaime Lannister, I won’t trade my husband’s happiness for my family’s business. If we can’t find another way – which we _will_ try, Jaime – but if we can’t, then…” she straightened her posture, fortifying her resolve, “then so be it.”

She naively expected Jaime to hug her, to thank her for putting him before her estranged family. Instead he just laughed, “Your _husband’s_ happiness? Sansa, you won’t have a husband.”

Her heart began to race – had Tywin somehow convinced Jaime that he should divorce her, too?

“What does that mean, Jaime?”

He rolled his eyes, “The entire basis of our marriage… the pillars of our marriage… are crumbling. Or more like they’re _gone_. If I don’t run for office and your family has nothing to do with Stark Enterprises, then we don’t need to stay married. There’s no reason to.”

Sansa opened her mouth, but her tongue was suddenly dry. _Have I imagined all the happiness, all the fun, all the caring? Was it all an act on his part?_ She began combing through her recent memory for evidence of deceit but could find none.

As if seeking to fill the void created by her silence Jaime spoke again, tone now gentler, “Look, San. I hate to be the bearer of uncomfortable truths here, but if I don’t run, and your dad’s company gets bought out by my father, there is no reason for us to stay married, and frankly I think we know I’d be burning the already shaky bridge between us and your family. They’d never accept me. You’d be committing yourself to a man who can never join you at Winterfell for a fun family Christmas, is that what you want? To sacrifice your family for me, knowing you’ll come to resent me eventually, anyway?”

His logic was sound and yet so flawed. It was all premeditated on the basis that they didn’t like and love one another enough to _want_ to stay married. Sansa wondered if Jaime – the new Jaime, who was willing to go against his father – now regretted their arrangement…

She finally met his eyes, “You wish you hadn’t married me. You’re looking for a way out so you can be with Nate, so you can have the family you want with a man you don’t have to share, maybe kids…”

Jaime snorted, another reaction she wasn’t expecting and didn’t appreciate, “Don’t turn this on me, San – I’m giving _you_ an out. You can marry Sandor, or live with him, be a couple, maybe have kids someday. Let’s stop fooling ourselves; it’s all fine and good to enjoy our little foursome now, but someday we’re going to get tired of this – all fun and no substance.”

Sansa felt as if he’d smacked her, “Fuck you!”

Jaime literally flinched.

“No!” she yelled, “Don’t you fucking dare! Don’t make it sound like we have no _substance_. What about the foundation, Jaime? What about how happy we all are together? What about the good we can do, like for TJ? You think the only way for me to have a fulfilling life is for me to have a straight husband and 2.5 kids – do you know who you sound like?”

Jaime rolled his eyes, but she gave him no opportunity to argue, “No – you are not going to run for Congress just to save my father from being booted from his own company. We are going on Monday to talk to your lawyer – we need to find out if what your dad is threatening is even possible. Maybe it’s just a bluff. And if it isn’t a bluff then we are going Tuesday to talk to my dad, perhaps he can talk to the board – maybe we’ll find out he has their backing, that Tywin can’t boot him. If we’re wrong, then at least we’re giving him time to prepare.”

“San – my dad is the majority shareholder. He can do whatever he wants—”

“Then let him. Let him have the company. My parents won’t be destitute – far from it. The part of the company they own is worth at least sixty million. If this isn’t a bluff Tywin will have to pay up. My entire family can live off that money for the rest of their lives _and_ have plenty to pass down.”

“I don’t understand…” Jaime looked thoroughly befuddled.

“Your father is trying to force your hand. So force his back.”

“No, I get that, I mean… why would you do that? You’ve talked about the company, the people… you’d let that fall into my dad’s hands to do with as he will?”

Sansa sighed… _Will I?_ It felt like a betrayal to say the words out loud, so she just nodded.

Jaime looked speechless, and she wondered if part of him was now judging her for being selfish. She amended her agreement, “I would do that. For us. But if there isn’t an us – if _you’re_ looking for a way out… if you think that someday this life – this strange family we have – won’t be enough for you… you need to tell me _now_.”

He answered with a kiss, quite possibly the most passionate kiss he’d ever given her. It conveyed love, sincerity, respect, need, want… he threaded his fingers into her hair as if to trap her from leaving. When he broke the kiss, he didn’t release her, didn’t step back, just pressed his forehead to hers, “San – this life is perfect. I just worry that you’ll want more – that someday you’ll need to choose between this wonderfully unorthodox living arrangement and your desire to have children. Hell I worry that _I’ll_ need to make that choice. But no – I don’t want out.”

“I understand, Jaime. I’ve had the same thoughts, but I’m not going to throw away something good in fear of a day that may never come. And if that day comes maybe we’ll just say _fuck it_ and live our lives as we want. Three men and a baby plus a woman. I may not be old enough to be wise, but I know that as long as a child is loved they’re going to be okay. And could there possibly be a more loving household than ours?”

His mouth found hers again, now hungry. Between kisses he breathed against her lips, “God, I fucking love the shit out of you, you know that?”

Sansa giggled, “That’s the first time you’ve said you love me, do you really want to sandwich the L-word between two expletives?”

“I’ve said it a hundred times in my head. I love you. I love our life. I love our men. I love our home. I don’t want to change a thing. But I need to know you are sure about this… I don’t want this to become a point of resentment.”

“Jaime, I would never resent you for choosing happiness. I can’t wait to start working with you at SAIME. Whatever happens, we’re in this together, Lannister.”

Whatever restraint he possessed broke, and Sansa was suddenly airborne, legs wrapped around Jaime’s waist as he carried her to the living room and laid her down on the sofa. His lips rarely left hers but to remove an article of clothing. He sighed as he sunk into her, as if that alone were release enough. His hips rocked against her while his arms held her close. She didn’t seek completion – didn’t want to, oddly – it was more than enough to have his arms wrapped around her after minutes ago she worried that the last six months had been an illusion.

He buried his face in her hair when he shattered, pulsing and pressing into her as if seeking a new depth.

After his breathing slowed, she was airborne again, being carried up the stairs with ease, Jaime unbothered by the weight – or by the seed dripping out of her. Not knowing what to expect she was surprised when he carried her straight into the master bathroom and placed her down gently on the ledge of the large tub before running a bath. Once it was filled, he stepped in and took her hand to let her know to do the same.

Leaning back against Jaime’s chest, breathing in the lemongrass bath oils and steam, Sansa felt more at peace than she had any right to, but she decided not to care. It was her life to live, and perhaps Sandor was rubbing off on her, because for the first time ever, she didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought about her.


	44. Motion in the Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been light on smut lately, and may continue that way for a few chapters... I'm trying to build toward something that I hope everyone likes once it pays off.

“I can’t believe we’re fishing in December. It fucking snowed yesterday!” Sandor grumbled.

“Ah quit your bitching. You didn’t have to come.”

“Well I needed to find out what’s so great about this that you do it _every_ Sunday – even during winter.”

Bronn huffed, “There’s no one else out on the lake during winter. We’ve got thick clothes and whiskey to warm our blood, and we’ll bring home some fresh catch that you’re going to fry us up for dinner. Now I told you to be quiet, remember? If I wanted chit-chat, I’d have brought Red, God knows she’d be better to look at than your sorry face.”

“That was the first thing I’ve said in an hour!”

Bronn stared at him punitively. Without another word Sandor made a ‘zipping my lips’ gesture and sat back to relax. In truth, it was rather enjoyable. They went out at noon, so the bright sun warmed them, and they would only stay out until 3 o’clock. It truly was peaceful out here, and Sandor could appreciate the quiet. As much as he enjoyed his life, Sansa and Jaime could be a bit much – especially when Nate joined them. He always enjoyed their time spent together but sometimes his ears would be ringing afterwards and he sought the quietude of his bedroom. As much as Bronn could be a loudmouth, he was completely silent when fishing, and even when they weren’t fishing, they would often fall into comfortable silences. Sandor supposed time in the service taught Bronn how to keep his mouth shut. In Sandor’s case it was his default setting, while Sansa and Jaime were set to ‘dull roar’.

Sandor laughed internally when he thought back to yesterday afternoon. He’d left the house when Tywin Lannister showed up. It wasn’t his place to chime in, and Jaime needed to deal with his father man-to-man… or man-to-whatever-the-fuck-Tywin-Lannister-is. Sandor ran errands to kill a couple hours and came home to find the house eerily quiet. There was no sign of Tywin’s car or Nate’s when he pulled into the driveway. He walked through the main door and saw no signs of life. An odd feeling of panic set in when he saw Sansa’s purse and a bag from Petco were on the floor in the foyer. How could Sansa – and a _puppy_ – be completely silent? He checked the lower levels of the house but found no one.

He ascended the stairs quietly, feeling adrenaline heat his veins though he wasn’t sure precisely what his brain was fearing he’d find. All the bedroom doors were open – adding to his anxiety. His and Sansa’s were empty, as was the office. Jaime’s room was also empty, but the light was on in his bathroom. Sandor pushed the halfway open door and immediately heard Sansa yelp.

Peering around the door he found Jaime and Sansa lounging in the large tub – alive and seemingly unharmed. Lady was laying on the bathmat, apparently having fallen asleep and only awoken when hearing Sansa’s cry.

“Damnit Sandor, you scared the crap out of me! Why are you creeping around?!”

_Yeah – why am I creeping around?_

He shook his head, “I dunno, it was just scary quiet in the house and knowing Tywin had come here, and sensing that it wasn’t for a friendly visit… I guess I just thought…”

Jaime’s serene face cracked into a grin, “That you were walking into the scene of a murder-suicide?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Yeah, something like that. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Spaghetti for dinner, if you’re okay with that.”

They nodded and Sandor turned to leave before Jaime called out to stop him, “Sandor, wait.”

“Yeah?” he turned.

“Love you, man.”

“Uh… did you guys smoke pot?”

“Nope. Just had a revelation.”

“A revelation that you love me?” Sandor asked, knowing he looked befuddled.

“A revelation that I love this life and the people in it – Nate, Sansa, you – you’re my family.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Jaime said conclusively, clearly not expecting a reciprocation of feelings, for which Sandor was grateful.

…

Sandor’s contemplative mood was brought to a screeching halt as his pole started moving. With elation he looked to Bronn who wrinkled his brow, “You gonna reel it in or wait for it to hop into the boat?”

By the end of the day they had caught four walleyes and though Sandor didn’t enjoy watching the fish flop around and die, he felt proud and capable to have caught his own dinner; he hadn’t hunted since he was a kid. As they drove the boat back to Lannister’s property, Sandor felt like a real outdoorsman.

\------------------------------------------------

December was turning out to be the month of unexpected Lannister visits. Just minutes after Sandor left with Bronn to go fishing, the doorbell rang. Sansa and Jaime were eating lunch at the island and looked at each other upon hearing the chimes. Sansa had no doubt it was Tywin come to insist on Jaime’s answer even though it was not yet his ‘deadline’, so when she heard female sobs coming from the foyer after Jaime went to answer the door, she was thoroughly shocked. What would ensue in the next couple hours was enough melodrama to fill a soap opera.

Cersei was clinging to her brother’s shoulders, “It’s over Jaime.”

“What’s over?”

“ _Everything_!”

Jaime gently pushed his sister off of him and led her by the hand to the kitchen. Cersei paused when she saw Sansa, but Sansa offered her a weak smile. Whatever the woman was, she was not the monster that her son and father and husband were. She’d never been overly nice to Sansa, but she’d also never been overly mean, and certainly not cruel.

Sansa was surprised when Cersei reached for her hand, “I’m so sorry, Sansa.”

Sansa wasn’t sure precisely what Cersei was apologizing for – the awkward Thanksgiving dinner, Joffrey’s attacks, her own drunken aloofness – but it didn’t seem proper to ask for clarification.

Jaime poured her a glass of red wine, which Cersei drank during three minutes of silence, leaving Sansa and Jaime to pass questioning glances at one another over her head.

“Uh, you want a cigarette?” Sansa asked, desperate to break the weird and tense silence.

Cersei’s eyes practically lit up, “Gods, yes!” Sansa led her outside and down to the benches near the lake where they’d be warmed by the sun. Jaime followed with throw blankets from the couch which he wrapped around his wife and sister’s shoulders before sitting on the bench, positioning Cersei in between them.

“What happened Cers?”

She shook her head, “Joffrey was arrested last night…”

_Yes!_

“…I know what you’re thinking – he deserves to go to jail. I won’t even argue with that, but…”

Sansa summoned compassion she did not feel, “But he’s still your son.”

Cersei nodded weakly, “I wanted to bail him out and take him to a rehab center. Robert insisted we let him sit… sober up, ponder his life choices. He said rehab is expensive and jail is free. He said Joffrey needs to learn that actions have consequences.”

Jaime glanced quickly to Sansa, “No offense, but Robert’s right… for a change.”

“But what is a couple nights in jail going to do? He needs to go somewhere to get real help. He needs counseling, he needs detox. He needs to understand the reason he drinks so much and acts the way he does.”

Jaime rubbed his forehead, “What did he get arrested for?”

“DUI.”

“Wouldn’t they just release him with a court date for that?”

Cersei chewed her lip, “Well… he also resisted arrest…”

Jaime snorted, “What a surprise. Never had any respect for authority.”

“And tried to strike an officer,” Cersei finished, squinting as if to brace for a blow.

“Wow. Glad to know he doesn’t exclusively attack women, I suppose,” Jaime spoke, his voice bitter.

Cersei sat up defensively, “He gets it from his father! The man walks around like his shit doesn’t stink. He thinks every woman is just dying to get into his pants – his 44-waist pants… Joffrey is so much like him it’s sickening!”

Jaime shook his head, Sansa could tell he was holding a lot back, “So what did you end up doing?”

“We left him there, but when he is released Robert is taking him straight to rehab... We had a huge fight when we got home early this morning. Everything came out. I told him how worthless he is, that the women he knocked up are the last straw, that I was planning on leaving him after Christmas anyway. I just stuck with him through the holidays for the kids’ sakes. I was going to stay with him through New Year’s then announce our separation, give the kids a couple weeks to process it and come to terms with everything before they have to go back to school mid-January.”

“So did you tell Cella and Tommen?”

“They were there for the fight,” Cersei blushed, “Robert was drinking the whole time, and saying the most awful things to me. Saying I’m an ice-cold cunt just like my father. Saying he should have never married me; blamed me for all the misfortune he’s reaped the past few years, saying he can’t focus on work when he has a miserable wife to come home to. He was so _horrible_ , Jaime!”

Jaime wrapped an arm around her, “I’m sorry the kids heard all that.”

Cersei nodded against her brother’s shoulder, “I was going to kick him out, but he could barely stand much less drive… I swear he went through a whole bottle of bourbon in under three hours… I know I shouldn’t have left – it makes it seem like I’m letting him keep the house, but I couldn’t stand to be near him another minute. I packed an overnight bag and came here. I told Tommen and Cella to come, too, but they looked at me like this was all _my_ fault. Tommen went to Michael’s house and Cella left to go back to her apartment at school.”

Sansa felt for Cersei, though couldn’t help but think her kids were right, at least partly – Cersei was no innocent victim in her marriage to Robert Baratheon.

“So what are you going to do?” Jaime asked while stroking Cersei’s back.

“I’m going to divorce the fucker. Whatever is left of his fortune, I’m taking my half and getting the fuck out of that marriage. He can have his whores and cocktail sluts. Daddy will help me,” for the first time since her arrival Cersei smiled at Jaime, “I’m his favorite, now, you know...”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “I’m sure you are.”

Cersei pinched him in the arm, and for the first time since meeting the woman Sansa saw something like genuine affection and compassion in her eyes, “I get it, you know.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re not going through with the campaign. I mean, at first I didn’t, but I do now.”

Jaime looked at her with skepticism, though now she was looking at Sansa while addressing both of them, “It never occurred to me when I married Robert that I wouldn’t be happy… that his money wouldn’t be enough to make up for all of his unpleasant qualities. Now I’d trade every penny he ever spent on me for one happy memory…” Cersei giggled, “Remember that club we got kicked out of?”

Jaime snorted, “You mean the club _you_ got kicked out of, and I didn’t want to let you leave by yourself.”

“You always took care of me, Jaime. Remember how much fun we used to have? Dancing all night…”

“Mmhmm, I also remember the night you drank three Electric Lemonades and barfed bright blue all over the downstairs powder room.”

“Hah!” Cersei cackled, “We were too drunk to clean it up, and the next day Tyrion said it looked like someone murdered a Smurf in there!”

Sansa was surprised to hear Cersei talk about Tyrion at all – much less in a somewhat fond way.

“Remember that girl that was obsessed with you?” Cersei asked mischievously.

“Which one?”

Cersei smacked his chest, “The really stupid one.”

Sansa chuckled, thinking it was a jab at Jaime, but Cersei looked serious, “No, Sansa, I mean she was _really_ stupid. Like, when the bartender asked if she wanted a single or double, she said ‘Single – I don’t want to have to carry around two drinks.’ Then we went to a diner one morning after staying out all night and she thought ‘poached’ eggs were actually illegally-poached – like Ostrich eggs or something. It was a riot.” She turned back to face Jaime, “Why’d you keep her around, anyway?”

“ _Keep_ her around?! I couldn’t get rid of her! She was like a bad case of athlete’s foot.”

Cersei rolled her eyes, “It’s because Jaime was always too nice.”

Sansa smiled at them, “Well I won’t complain; suits me just fine.”

“Really? I’ve always gone for the bad boy type…”

Sansa felt her cheeks heat and lit another cigarette to distract herself.

Cersei sighed and lit a cigarette of her own, “Those were the days…”

“Those days don’t have to be over, Cersei,” Sansa offered.

“I’m forty-three and have three kids and am about to be going through what I’m sure will be a long and drawn-out divorce.”

“I’m not talking about dating, I’m talking about going out, painting the town red, having a good time, getting kicked out of clubs… well maybe not _that_ part. Maybe you can meet some hot, dumb guy that you can have a good time with.”

“Ugh, I’ve had enough of dumb men.”

Sansa wondered if she was only referring to Robert. She suspected not…

Sansa shrugged, “Fine, then a girls night... Bring Myrcella; she’d probably love to see the fun-loving side of her mom… eh, I mean, no offense…”

Cersei smiled, “How about Wednesday?”

Sansa shrugged, “Sure, whenever you want.”

Cersei leaned forward, “Then Thursday is New Year’s Eve – we can all go out together! You, me, Jaime… bring some friends if you have any close by.”

“Sure, it’s a date. Er, two dates!”

Cersei squealed and stood up abruptly, grabbing Sansa’s hand and dragging her back toward the house, “Let’s get something to eat – if I’m going out dancing two nights in a row, I’ll burn plenty of calories. Oh and let’s go shopping tomorrow – I need something really trampy to wear.”

Sansa turned to find Jaime following them with a smirk on his face that said, _“You had to open your big mouth.”_

Once inside Jaime made them all martinis and they talked some more about Joffrey’s incident, about Robert’s business situation, and even about Jaime and Sansa’s foundation. All Cersei’s mannerisms and her style of speaking still sounded like ‘stuck up bitch’ but she was also joking and taking an interest in parts of the conversation that weren’t about her. It was a side of her that Sansa had never seen, and rather liked.

After another hour, the back door slid open and Sandor and Bronn entered with a cooler in hand – tonight’s dinner. Upon seeing Cersei, Sandor did a double-take, as did Bronn – though for very different reasons.

“Hello,” Cersei stated in annoyance when neither man spoke.

“Hi, Cersei,” Sandor finally managed, “I guess we’ll do something else for dinner, I’m just going to wrap the fish and put them in the freezer.” He seemed to be trying to move as quickly as possible.

Cersei waved a hand, “Make your fish. I love seafood.”

“Uh… you sure?”

Cersei arched a brow – a silent command to stop questioning.

Sansa cleared her throat, noticing that Bronn was still checking out Cersei, “Uh, Cersei – this is our friend Bronn. He lives across the lake.”

Bronn extended his hand to capture Cersei’s, bringing it up to his lips for a lingering kiss, “Hello, lovely.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “He’s also a pathological flirt.”

Cersei wrinkled her nose, “You smell like fish.”

“I thought you liked fish.”

“ _Cooked_ fish. Call me crazy.”

Bronn smiled before making his way to the sink to wash his hands, “Well I wouldn’t want to be the reason you lose your appetite. After all, watching beautiful women eat is one of my greatest pleasures… isn’t that right, Red?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Yes, watching me inhale a platter of nachos; people always tell me how sexy it is.”

Cersei still looked like she had a lemon in her mouth, “So you went fishing in late December? Aren’t you afraid of, I dunno, _hypothermia_?”

“I’m a pro! And I always keep life vests and blankets on the boat.”

“How big is your boat?”

Bronn raised his brows, inferring inuendo that wasn’t there, “Well it’s no yacht, but it ain’t no dinghy, either.”

Now it was Jaime’s turn to clear his throat, “Bronn, Cersei is my _sister._ ”

Bronn cracked a crooked smile, “That right? Boy, you Lannisters sure are a pretty lot.”

Next Sandor took a turn, “Bronn, you going to show me how to clean and scale these fish or spend all night barking up the wrong tree?”

Bronn bowed dramatically, looking at Cersei and Sansa, “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me.”

To Sansa’s surprise, Cersei had a slight smile on her lips, and watched Bronn at the kitchen counter even as she spoke to Sansa more loudly than necessary, “So, Sansa, I’m thinking I’ll go with a nice bold red dress for New Year’s… waddaya think?”

“Uh, well you definitely have the hair and complexion for it… and most women will be wearing black.”

Cersei nodded, “I’m thinking something with long sleeves, ruched through the waist, with a short and _tight_ skirt.”

“Mmhmm…” Sansa glanced at Jaime, hoping her eyes conveyed her state of utter _WTF,_ “What about for Wednesday?”

“Maybe something black and slinky, with a slit almost up to the hip… actually no, that’ll be for New Year’s… the red dress for Wednesday. I want to go to a really raunchy club, the kind of place where people fuck in the bathrooms.”

Sansa choked on her martini, “Um… doesn’t sound that _safe…_ ”

Cersei shrugged, “That’s why we have bodyguards, or have you forgotten that yours is for more than just cooking!?” Cersei pointed at Sandor who appeared to be trying to make himself invisible.

“Well, uh, okay…”

“Good, that’s settled. Now what will you wear?”

“I dunno, I guess I’ll browse through the racks.”

Cersei rolled her eyes, “Well you need to have _some_ idea! I say you wear something slinky and shimmery for New Year’s – maybe black over gold, or just gold. Maybe something short and black for Wednesday… something that’ll have guys grabbing a handful of ass so you can throw your drink in their face,” Cersei smiled serenely.

“Uh… I don’t know about that…”

“Oh, darling… when you’re over forty it will stop feeling creepy and start feeling like a compliment!”

“Well, how about you take all the groping, I’ll just help throw the drinks in their faces?”

Cersei shrugged, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

For the first time in Sansa’s life, she prayed that she would be stricken with a horrible illness before Wednesday. Spending the night on the toilet with explosive diarrhea would be preferable to going out with Cersei to get molested.

An hour later they all gathered around the table for pan-fried fish with rice pilaf. Like everything Sandor (and Bronn) made, it was delicious. Jaime was particularly impressed, “I can’t believe you caught _and_ cooked this! It’s delicious.”

Bronn thanked him for the compliment, “Why don’t you get a boat, Lannister?”

Cersei laughed, “He gets seasick. Literally turns green the moment he steps on a boat.”

“So take motion sickness medicine,” Bronn shrugged.

“He does… he takes triple the recommended dose and still is miserable. Trust me, you want to have a bad time on a boat – just bring Jaime Lannister!”

“That’s too bad. What about you, lovely? You get seasick.”

“Not one bit. No such thing as too much motion in the ocean for me!”

Bronn arched a brow devilishly, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The evening passed by as pleasantly as possible, considering the blatant flirtation between Bronn and Cersei. Sansa knew Bronn to be a flirt but was certain this went beyond his usual friendliness to actual _wooing_. Bronn was wooing Cersei Lannister, and she was totally into it. Once dinner was over, Sansa took the earliest opportunity to get herself alone with Jaime, “You know, we have some leftover pies from yesterday in the garage fridge… you wanna help me Jaime?”

Before Jaime could respond Sandor launched himself out of his chair, “I got it, Lannister.” Jaime threw daggers at him with his eyes, but Sandor was already halfway to the garage, Sansa following close behind. They closed the door behind them and immediately spoke in unison, “What the fuck?!”

Sansa shook her head, “How is Bronn possibly Cersei’s type? Doesn’t he need a couple more zeros on the end of his bank balance?”

“At least Bronn’s a nice guy… is he really going to try to hook up with that she-devil? I’m pretty sure she eats her mates after fucking them, which is probably why Robert never fucked her.”

Sansa could only shake her head in disbelief. When they returned to the table with the pies Cersei was in the midst of laughing at something Bronn had said. Jaime was nowhere to be seen. Cersei saw Sansa looking around, “Jaime took the dog out. Cute little thing, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks.” Sansa and Sandor slipped outside and found Jaime in the yard.

“Thanks, dude,” Jaime scowled at Sandor.

“Hey, she’s _your_ sister. I can’t believe you were going to leave _me_ alone with them. If it’s possible to fuck someone without removing any clothes or touching them, that’s what they’re doing in there.”

Jaime and Sansa filled Sandor in on what happened with Joffrey, and about Cersei’s decision to divorce Robert.

Sandor looked pleased, “I hope that little twerp gets ass raped in the shower.”

“He’s getting released tomorrow… then going straight to rehab.”

“That fucking cocksucker… always manages to get off easy.”

Sansa shivered, “I think we should get back inside, it’s kind of obvious we’re avoiding them.” But before they made it to the door, Bronn and Cersei were walking through it to come outside. Sansa immediately noticed Cersei’s overnight bag was in Bronn’s hand.

Jaime stared at her, mouth agape, “Going somewhere?”

“Yes. Bronn has two spare bedrooms. It’ll be less cramped than staying here with you three.”

“Um, Cersei… do you think perhaps you’re in an emotional state right now, and not thinking clearly…”

Cersei patted his cheek, “You worry too much, brother. You need to let loose a little.”

“ _I_ need to let loose?”

“Yes. Go enjoy your wife. Thank you both for the talk, and the dinner. Sansa I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for shopping.” With a hug for each of them, she let Bronn lead her to the waterline. Bronn waved his goodbyes and they were off.

Jaime rubbed his eyes, “This is going down in history as the weirdest Christmas ever.”

The three of them shared a hearty laugh… though if they knew what was coming for them, there’d be no such merriment…


	45. Words Unspoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Jaime and Jaimsa in this one. Be patient, SanSan shippers - they will have some quality time soon.

It was late morning Monday and Sansa and Jaime were headed to his attorney’s office to see if anything could be done to stop or even delay Tywin’s planned ousting of Ned Stark from Stark Enterprises. Jaime noticed Sansa’s knees were bouncing up and down. He reached across the console to take her hand, “You’re sure about this? It’s not too late, San…”

She shook her head, “Let’s just see what the lawyer says and take it from there.”

He nodded, proud that Sansa could think rationally even when under such stress.

They had just stepped out of the car when Jaime’s phone rang, an unknown number on the caller ID. He answered and listened to a calm but firm female voice speak words that he heard but did not fully comprehend. He nodded – not that the woman could see – and told himself he would process her words after getting off the phone.

“Thank you,” he spoke, his voice sounding foreign to his ears, before disconnecting the call.

Sansa was staring at him, obviously sensing his state of shock, “What is it?”

Jaime forced himself to remember the woman’s words, “My dad… he had a massive heart attack and underwent emergency surgery.” His voice sounded oddly calm to his ears.

Sansa gasped, covering her mouth with both hands before putting them on Jaime’s arms and gripping firmly, “Jaime, which hospital?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, Hackensack? Yeah, Hackensack.”

“Okay. I’m going to drive.”

“Okay,” Jaime nodded, surprised to be unbothered by the prospect of Sansa driving his car.

Jaime sat in the passenger seat, listening to Sansa call Cersei over Bluetooth. Jaime noted how Cersei’s voice became high-pitched and frightened, while Sansa remained calm and collected. Cersei kept asking for details, but Jaime didn’t have any to share – at least he couldn’t remember being told any. After Cersei hung up he looked out the window, “Looks like snow,” he mumbled, though Sansa didn’t respond.

Before he knew it, they were at the hospital, and Sansa was leading him by the hand through large sliding doors, speaking to a woman at a desk, ushering him into an elevator, then leading him down twisting corridors until they arrived at the Cardiac unit. Then they spoke to another woman at another desk and were guided down another hall until a familiar face came into sight – Jaime’s uncle Kevan – who was standing outside a room talking to a doctor. Kevan’s eyes found Jaime’s immediately and he rushed over to hug him. He smiled warmly at Sansa, and Jaime wondered if that meant his dad never spoke ill of Sansa to Kevan, or if Kevan chose to disregard whatever Tywin might have say about her.

The doctor introduced himself though Jaime immediately forgot his name. He explained that Tywin was rushed in via ambulance suffering a heart attack. They discovered a blockage in one of his arteries and performed an emergency bypass procedure after stabilizing him.

“Why wasn’t the blockage discovered before now?”

The doctor shook his head, “Your father doesn’t see a cardiologist, as least we see no sign of it in his medical records. Absent any signs of heart problems – dizziness, shortness of breath, chest pain – and given his overall good state of health, his primary physician would have no reason to recommend a specialist.”

Sansa nodded, “So what is his prognosis?”

The doctor offered a half smile, “It’s good, considering how severe the heart attack was. He will likely be here for a week under close observation, then will need bed rest at home for several weeks and should absolutely avoid physical and mental stress for a few months. He will need to see a cardiologist regularly going forward, and he’ll likely be on medication for the rest of his life.”

“A blood thinner?” Sansa asked.

“Yes, most definitely.”

“What about a statin?”

“Possibly, though it doesn’t appear he’s ever had a high cholesterol reading.”

“So how did he get a blockage?”

Jaime watched his wife and the doctor go back and forth, wishing he could understand more of what they were discussing.

“It’s unclear; some people are just predisposed to it. It may not have even led to a heart attack if it weren’t for the stress your father has been under. Your uncle tells me he has a very stressful job and is something of a workaholic.”

Kevan smiled sadly at Jaime, and only then did he realize the particular source of stress that Kevan had been alluding to.

The doctor excused himself after handing Jaime a card and assuring them he’d be back in three hours to check on Tywin, and that nurses would be checking on him every half hour. He was still recovering from the surgery and would be kept sedated until the next day. After he left, Sansa, Jaime, and Kevan found chairs. After not speaking for what felt like hours, Jaime finally found words, “What happened?”

Kevan shook his head, “It was early this morning, I’d just gotten in, Ty and I were having coffee, I was telling him about my weekend, and I asked him how his was… He wasn’t very talkative – in hindsight I suppose he was feeling off, but you know it’s hard to tell with your father. Suddenly he was clutching his chest, struggling to breathe… his secretary called 9-1-1, I forced him to take a few aspirin… luckily the ambulance arrived very quickly and next thing I knew we were here. Honestly, Jaime, it was mostly a blur,” Kevan rubbed his forehead, “Ty is… well, I’ve always thought he was invincible. I think he always thought he was invincible. If he’d ever had chest pain or other warning signs in the past, he probably would have thought he could overcome it through sheer will power.” Kevan sighed loudly, shaking his head, “Today was…”

Sansa reached for his hand even though she barely knew him, “It must have been terrifying.”

Kevan nodded, putting his hand over hers.

“It was good you kept your wits about you; the aspirin may have saved his life… bought him a few more minutes so the doctors could work their magic.”

Kevan nodded again, though seemed uncomfortable with Sansa’s praise. Lannisters, even Kevan, weren’t accustomed to receiving such support and affection from one another.

Cersei arrived, followed shortly by Kevan’s wife Dorna. Kevan and Sansa recounted everything, including the doctor’s words. Cersei was calmer than she’d been on the phone and Jaime was glad for it. His mind was reeling with his own feelings of guilt and fear, and he couldn’t have endured any hysterics from Cersei. After some minutes the women left to get coffees from the cafeteria, leaving Kevan and Jaime alone. Kevan looked hesitant but eventually spoke, “Jaime – I know things between you and your father have been… _strained_ … but it has always been his wish that should anything happen to him you’d step into his shoes at Casterly. Your current disagreement hasn’t changed that, I should think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone needs to run the business while your father is recovering. You heard the doctor – he will need to be away for weeks and take it easy for much longer. If and when he comes back full time may be something that needs to be played by ear.”

“Uncle Kevan – you are much more qualified to run things. Of course I will take on some additional responsibilities, support you in any way I can, but…” he trailed off.

“You know the business as well as anyone, Jaime. It will be me supporting you. It will be a team effort, but it is for you to take the reins.”

Jaime sat down, unable to say more. He could barely process everything. His father – his made-of-stone father – had almost died. And if he had died, the last conversation between father and son would have haunted Jaime for the rest of his days. He’d told his father – screamed it, really – that if he did anything to hurt Sansa’s family, Jaime would disconnect from him completely. _“You won’t be my father,”_ Jaime had said, and in that moment, he’d meant it. He was so tired of his father’s incessant meddling, trying to run his life, that he was already at his wit’s end. When his father had begun verbally attacking Sansa, who wasn’t even there to defend herself, it had put Jaime over the edge. Sweet Sansa who accepted Jaime as he was. Sansa who, in less than a year, managed to become Jaime’s closest friend and greatest supporter. Sansa who showed not a shred of jealousy or malice toward Nate. Sansa who was worried about Jaime’s sense of purpose after he dropped the campaign and created a foundation for him.

And Tywin Lannister stood in Jaime’s kitchen and called her a deceitful, manipulative cunt. He called Jaime a fool for being led around by the cock. He tried to convince Jaime that the Starks were conspiring to go back on their deal – to sit back and enjoy the financial security Tywin gave them without having to publicly align themselves with Jaime Lannister by endorsing his congressional run.

His father couldn’t see the simpler explanation – that Jaime never wanted to run for Congress but was afraid to admit it even to himself. That he did love Sansa, and that Sansa loved him. No matter their strange family; it was no one else’s business and they owed no explanations.

As Jaime leaned back in the uncomfortable, hard plastic chair at the hospital, he thought of every vile thing his father had said, and every hateful response Jaime had made. He wanted to feel right about everything, but all he could think was that his father almost died – still wasn’t 100% in the clear – and the last words between them were awful.

Uncle Kevan seemed to realize Jaime needed some privacy and excused himself to make some phone calls somewhere he would have better reception.

For the first time since arriving at the hospital Jaime walked into his father’s room. It was so strange to see the normally tall and robust man looking pale and feeble. Jaime wondered if his father always looked this way when sleeping. Though sedated and presumably in a relaxed state, all the lines of his face were accentuated. The vertical lines between his eyebrows; the crescent-shaped lines around his mouth. The deeper trenches spanning his forehead. His father was sixty-five, and normally looked more like sixty, but today he looked like eighty. _When did his hair become more white than blond?_

Jaime settled into one of the four chairs in the room. He summoned murky memories of his father when Jaime was very young, before his mother died. Jaime had always thought there was a clear line of demarcation between his father’s attitude before and after Joanna’s death. But Jaime was now hard-pressed to summon a truly happy, carefree image of his father as a young father in his twenties. Had he ever taken his children pumpkin-picking? Had he helped decorate the tree, or sung Christmas carols? Uncle Kevan always spoke as if Tywin was a kinder, gentler man before Joanna’s death, but Jaime simply couldn’t remember it.

Jaime squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to recall one time his father was happy or even content. The closest he got was when his father looked pleased when Jaime did well with his spelling and grammar assignments. A slight nod and raised eyebrows would show when he had impressed his father, and Jaime remembered being filled with pride in those moments, but that wasn’t happiness – that was his father feeling a sense of accomplishment this his _golden son_ wouldn’t be an illiterate.

No, there must be another time… a moment of pure contentment. Something like the way Jaime felt snuggled up against Nate on Christmas Eve, with Sansa and Sandor only a few feet away.

And then it hit Jaime like a freight train...

_It was nighttime – Christmas or Christmas Eve – but definitely dark outside. The only light in the large family room was from the Christmas tree and the fireplace. Jaime and Cersei were completely absorbed playing with their new toys, but hushed words from where his parents sat caught his attention for a moment. In that moment he looked up to see his father sitting in the leather wingback chair he always favored, and his mother was in his lap. Their faces were close as they whispered words back and forth. His mother smiled then, and his father smiled back. A real, genuine, can’t-be-forced, smile. His father placed one hand over her lower belly, while his other arm was around her back. His mother turned toward the tree then, meeting Jaime’s eyes and beaming at him. His father looked only at his beloved wife as he pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips still curved in a rare smile. Little Jaime looked away, feeling like he was spying on a private moment, and resumed playing with his shiny red fire truck. The sweet exchange between his parents was all but forgotten to Jaime who was obsessed with the idea of being a firefighter. When minutes later he happened a glance back to his parents, his father was watching him. For a moment Jaime stilled; even at that young age he knew his father thought toys that weren’t educational were completely useless. Jaime felt as if he’d been caught eating cookies before dinner, and his entire body warmed with shame. He looked back down at the firetruck and suddenly it looked so silly to him. He was a big kid now, just turned seven, and big kids didn’t play with this kind of toy, yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull his hand off of it. Without lifting his head he looked back at his father, who still wore a contented expression. Jaime didn’t know why he was being scrutinized, and not knowing made him feel scared. He felt tears welling behind his eyes but refused to let them come forth. He met his father’s gaze – and that’s when it happened. One corner of his father’s mouth lifted, and he winked. He **winked** at Jaime, as if a secret had passed between them, and Jaime couldn’t fight the bowing of his own lips as he smiled back. _

Now the same man lay in a sterile room, alive only by the power of modern medicine, and Jaime finally knew what that wink meant, and the tears he hadn’t let fall that night thirty-six years ago finally came forth. His father saw into his son’s heart and mind and knew he dreamt of being a hero – of riding in a red firetruck, being brave, saving people who couldn’t save themselves – and for that moment, his father acknowledged it.

Seven months later Tyrion had entered the world, and Joanna had left, and Tywin Lannister would never again abide any _noble_ notions in any of his children. He worked to accumulate power and money – for himself and for his children – and nothing else mattered.

\-------------------------------------------

Sansa peered at Cersei over her cup of coffee. Only Cersei Lannister would look like a movie star after spending the night at a hospital. It was Tuesday morning and the two women were alone together in the café. Jaime and Sansa spent the entire previous day at the hospital, but sometime around 9 pm Cersei told them to go home and get some sleep – she would stay and call if anything changed. They did that and had just come back to the hospital this morning when Cersei pulled Sansa along for a coffee while Jaime sat with his father.

It was clear to Sansa that Jaime was definitely _off_ – no doubt the recent fight with his father was weighing on him now, though Kevan and Sansa both assured him he was not at fault.

Sansa had slept in his bed last night, hoping he would talk, and he did. He told Sansa about a memory from Christmas many years ago, when his father was a warmer man, less motivated by greed. The story, and the innocent way Jaime told it, as if he were still that seven-year old boy, made Sansa cry. The story was happy and sad at the same time. When Jaime spoke of his father pressing a tender kiss to his mother’s temple Sansa couldn’t hold in a grin. Jaime looked at her questioningly, _“What?”_

_“You do that to me all the time, and I **love** it. I guess I have the old lion to thank for it.”_

Jaime chuckled, clearly looking for a reason to laugh in spite of his overwrought emotions. _“Romance lessons from Tywin Lannister… who’d have thought?”_

Sansa cleared her throat, and Cersei glanced up at her, “So, Kevan says Jaime will need to step in to run things at Casterly until your father is recovered.”

Cersei nodded, “Yes; Uncle Kevan can handle it well enough, but appearances were always important to Daddy. Jaime is set to inherit Dad’s share of the company, and Dad has made it clear that he wants Jaime as CEO when that day comes, assuming the board approves, which they will. Of course, the Congress thing would have changed that, but…” Cersei shrugged.

Sansa chewed her lip, “I’m worried about the stress on your brother, and whether your Dad will still want him to take over… I don’t want to see Jaime _or_ your father stressed, or at odds over this.”

Cersei shrugged again, “Kevan can run the show in all but title; don’t worry about Jaime. As for Dad, if he doesn’t want Jaime stepping in, he will have no qualms about saying so, and I’m sure Jaime won’t protest.”

Sansa nodded, silently hoping that would be the case. She decided to change the subject and ask about something that had been on her mind since Sunday, “So… Bronn…?”

Cersei arched an eyebrow, “Are you asking if I fucked him?”

“No! I- I- I guess I just wondered what the deal is there…”

Cersei shrugged again, “I needed to have some fun, and he obliged me.”

“So… it was a one-time thing?”

“Well I’m not going to marry him if that’s what you mean,” Cersei looked mortified by the prospect, and not just because she was still legally married to Robert.

“No, of course not! I meant… will you see him again or… not?”

Sansa then saw something she thought she’d never see – a blush on Cersei’s cheeks, even as Cersei tried to play it casual with yet another shrug and a long sip of her coffee, “I may have asked him to join us on New Year’s Eve…”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “You’re still planning on going out on New Year’s? I mean, with your father in the hospital…”

“Well of course we will play it by ear but trust me – once my dad is awake and alert, he is _not_ going to want any mother hens around. And if he accepts anyone’s presence it will be Uncle Kevan’s.”

Sansa forced a smile but was inwardly disappointed. She wanted to spend New Year’s Eve at home with Sandor, Jaime, and Nate – not out with Cersei. Sansa tried to figure out a way to get Sandor and Nate to come along without raising Cersei’s suspicion, but would either of them even want to come along if they couldn’t be free with their respective lovers?

The women finished their coffees in silence then returned to the cardiac unit. They took two seats in the hallway and each scrolled through their phones for several minutes before Jaime emerged, smiling wanly at the two women, “Hey, I’m glad you’re back – he wants to see you.”

Cersei rose but Jaime pushed her shoulder down gently, “I meant Sansa.”

Sansa could practically feel her eyes bugging out of her head, “He wants to see _me_?!”

Jaime nodded, looking pensive.

Sansa tried to prepare herself, “Okay… is he… is he mad?”

Jaime’s face tightened, “I don’t think so, but it’s kind of hard to tell. Do you want me to come in with you?”

Sansa shook her head, “No, if he asked to see me alone, I’ll honor that. But… don’t go far?”

Jaime offered another weak smile, “Just scream if you need me.”

Sansa walked into the room timidly, intimidated by Tywin Lannister even as he lay in a hospital gown with tubes sticking out of his arms and nostrils. She wasn’t sure why he wanted to see her and wasn’t sure whether to put on a face of sympathy, contriteness, or anger. She tried for a neutral expression but wasn’t sure it was effective – Sandor always said she had a terrible poker face.

As he appraised her quietly, she cleared her throat, “How are you feeling?”

His response was mechanical, “As well as can be expected.”

Sansa nodded and waited for him to speak. He continued staring at her as if trying to literally see her every secret. When he finally spoke again Sansa startled.

“The doctor told me I’m lucky to have such a knowledgeable and _caring_ daughter-in-law. Then he spewed a bunch of horseshit about how it is important for me to have a support team in my health going forward, and that you would make a fine supporter, blah blah blah.”

“Oh – I see. Uh, sure, I’d be happy to help any way I can,” Sansa tried to offer a genuine smile but knew it was a failure.

Tywin rolled his eyes, “I don’t need a nursemaid; that’s not my point.”

“Oh… then what is your point?”

Tywin stared at her again, and Sansa wanted to hold his glare but couldn’t. Instead she picked at her fingernails.

“If I died yesterday, none of my threats regarding your father’s company would have come to fruition. Moreover, Jaime would inherit quite a nice sum of money, not to mention a large and profitable business.”

Sansa looked up, knowing her face bore a look of shock, “Jaime would never wish for that!”

“I know. My son has a soft heart, it’s one of his greatest weaknesses—” Sansa started to protest but Tywin held up a hand, “ _and_ one of his defining characteristics. You on the other hand should have no reason to want to see me live to see another day, yet you spent all day yesterday demanding thorough updates from the nursing staff and doctors, and translating those updates into layman’s terms for Jaime, Cersei, Kevan and Dorna.”

“I’m no MD. I just learned enough to be able to hock pharmaceuticals to cardiologists and pulmonologists.”

“I’m not complimenting you on your medical knowledge, though the doctor seemed impressed, I’m asking you why you _give a fuck_.”

Sansa was taken aback; despite the animosity between them since Thanksgiving, did he think she’d wish him dead?! She felt angry, defensive, and affronted, “You’re Jaime’s father, and Jaime loves you, though don’t ask me why. I don’t want to see him hurt. And despite our differences, Mr. Lannister, I wouldn’t wish you dead. That emotion is reserved exclusively for your grandson.” She held her chin out proudly.

Tywin stared at her, this time with unconcealed surprise, before a smile formed on his lips. It was a strange sight to behold and Sansa didn’t know how to respond.

“I can see why Jaime cares about you,” he finally offered, and it was the kindest words the man had ever said in Sansa’s presence. “You remind me of Joanna. She was always kind, almost _too_ friendly at times… people thought she was naïve, thought her kindness was a weakness, but when someone crossed her or her family – she was a lioness,” Tywin spoke with apparent pride.

Sansa finally returned his smile, “Then Jaime is like her, too.”

Tywin’s mouth dropped open. Sansa watched as the realization sunk in, then he spoke again, “When Jaime was in elementary school, the other boys used to bully him. I found it so strange – he was tall for his age, and strong. He was handsome and likeable. And yet, the other kids saw something in him that they thought was a weakness. To me it was like watching a Chihuahua growl at a Doberman – Jaime didn’t realize he was bigger and better than all of them, and they didn’t realize they were nothing more than ankle-biters. I tried talking to him, his uncle talked to him… we tried to tell him to stand up for himself.”

Sansa was on tenterhooks, waiting for the conclusion. Jaime had told her about briefly being bullied, and that Cersei used to stick up for him, but hearing it from Tywin’s point of view was oddly fascinating, “Did he? Stand up for himself, I mean.”

Tywin snorted, and Sansa couldn’t tell whether it was in amusement or resentment, “No – Jaime didn’t discover his sharp claws and teeth until he had someone _else_ to stand up for…”

“Tyrion?” Sansa asked.

Tywin only nodded, and the entire conversation now made sense. She wasn’t afraid to voice her thoughts, “Just like he let _you_ bully him, let you run his life for decades, until he had _me_ to stand up for.”

Tywin neither confirmed nor denied her statement and Sansa sensed he was ready to be done with the conversation, but she was wrong. He looked out the window, though there was nothing particularly fascinating to behold, “Honorable Ned Stark’s daughter wouldn’t deceive a man lying in a hospital bed the day after nearly dying, would she?”

This time it was Sansa who snorted. Her _honorable_ father, the one who was having the barest of relationships with his daughter because he couldn’t set aside his own guilt, “She wouldn’t,” Sansa answered honestly, withholding any commentary about her father.

Tywin nodded once, seemingly collecting his thoughts, “You really care about him – love him?”

“I do.”

“And he… _reciprocates_?”

“He does.”

Another single nod was his response before he took a deep breath, “I won’t do anything to oust your father, unless I have valid business reasons to do so. I will not stand by if he ruins the company, but nor will I remove him out of spite or as an… _ultimatum._ Jaime will still have his place at Casterly, but what he does outside the requirements of that role is his prerogative. Running for office or not… this _foundation_ ,” Tywin said the word like it was dirty, “his marriage, his family life… it’s been made clear to me that I have been running at full-speed for too long; at my age I haven’t the energy to worry myself with Jaime’s life choices.”

He spoke as if this change of heart was all for his benefit, but Sansa understood what Tywin was saying without saying. He would no longer meddle in Jaime’s affairs, because it had nearly lost him his son, and having a near-death experience reset his priorities.

Still, something else was not being said, and Sansa wasn’t naïve enough not to notice, “Why do I sense a ‘but’ is coming?”

Tywin inclined his head as if commending her for reading between the lines, “If you betray or hurt my son, I will destroy you and your family.”

Sansa could only smile, for once again she heard what was felt but not said – that Tywin Lannister cared about his son’s happiness and would strike down any who caused Jaime harm. But pride would not let her simply yield without issuing a warning of her own, “That is fair, but if _you_ hurt _my_ husband, or try to get in the way of his happiness, I’ll see to it that there is an unfortunate mix-up with your medications.”

Tywin blanched, shocked by her audacity, before his face transformed before her very eyes into the widest grin she’d ever seen on him. A laugh burst out of his chest, but it clearly pained him as he clutched at his chest. Immediately guilty for causing him physical pain – even if indirectly – Sansa ran to his side and placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him through her touch. He waved away her concern; indeed Tywin Lannister didn’t enjoy being mother-henned. Yet when she went to remove her hand, he placed his overtop of it and looked up to her with sincerity in his green eyes, “Joanna would have been very fond of you.” Once again, she heard the unspoken words: _“I’m rather fond of you, too.”_

Sansa smiled, patting his hand carefully to avoid the intravenous line, “I’m sure the feeling would have been mutual.” … _You’re not so bad yourself._


	46. Sweet Dreams

“Is this how you’re going to kick off the new year!?” Sandor spoke from the doorway, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

Sansa pulled a pillow over her head, “Stop shouting!” she mumbled. Even Jaime – Mr. Never-gets-a-hangover – groaned out a sickly response from where he lay beside her.

“Anyone hungry? I was thinking of making a spinach omelet,” Sandor asked, clearly delighting in their torment. Sansa’s stomach lurched and she got up to bolt for the bathroom, just making it to the toilet in time. Apparently, the sound of her vomiting affected Jaime, for she was vaguely aware of him making it to the tub before barfing.

Feeling her stomach was empty for a moment, Sansa sat back against the wall, uncaring that her pale legs splayed out and that she was sitting on the bathroom floor in the $300 come-fuck-me dress that Cersei insisted she wear to the club.

Sandor watched from the doorway, looking far too happy with himself, “So is that a ‘no’ to the omelet?”

Jaime’s response was purging more of last night’s alcohol into the tub.

Sansa couldn’t even formulate a witty retort, she just laid down on the cool tile, all sense of dignity long gone, “Can you please put me out of my misery?”

Sandor looked down at her sympathetically, teasing finally over, “Alright, you want Pepto or Alka-Seltzer?”

At just the thought of drinking chalky pink Pepto-bismol Sansa was bent over the toilet again, heaving so hard her neck ached and sweat dripped down her face.

“So how much did you guys drink, anyway?”

“I will give you ten grand right now to be quiet,” Jaime plead, holding his head as if trying to keep his brains inside.

Sandor put his hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright. Come on, love, let’s get you back to bed,” he reached for Sansa’s hand.

“No. It’s nice and cold here on the floor.”

Jaime the germophobe crawled over to join her on the floor, sold by the proclaimed coldness. Sandor shook his head and left them to their misery – Sansa didn’t blame him, there was nothing he could do, and it was embarrassing enough to be in this state without another witness.

Sansa and Jaime fell in and out of sleep for the next few hours, and they didn’t manage to get up, shower, and head downstairs until after 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Sansa hadn’t done something like this since she was in college, and she made a vow to never do it again.

They sat down and let Sandor serve them tea, crackers, and ibuprofen.

Sansa smiled at him, regretting her earlier crankiness, “Thanks. I’ve decided on my New Year’s Resolution – it’s to _never_ go out drinking with Cersei again.”

Jaime nodded passionately, then clutched his forehead, “I think the bar ran out of vodka.”

Sandor winced, “So that was your poison? Vodka hangovers suck.”

Sansa glared at him, “Vodka, gin, I think there were shots of whiskey… some fruity shit… every time someone new showed up they bought us drinks. And, of course, champagne at midnight before going back to vodka. I’m pretty sure we should all be dead right now.”

Sandor rubbed the back of her neck and Sansa wanted to cry in relief.

“So who all showed up?”

“Some of Jaime’s friends from work. Nate stopped by with his brother and a couple friends. Myrcella stopped by with her boyfriend for a bit. Even Mya, whose still in town visiting family, stopped by with her cousins… she sends her regards, by the way,” Sansa forced a frown.

Sandor blushed at the mention of Mya, then clearly tried to change the subject, “So, was Cersei sufficiently _groped_?”

Jaime managed a chuckle, “I think Bronn scratched that itch for her on Sunday; she was actually just interested in having a good time with us… well and trying to give us alcohol poisoning.”

Sansa scowled, “Yeah, she forced me to buy a dress that would barely qualify as a Band-Aid, then spent the whole night dancing while I had to guard my tush like I was in a prison shower.”

Jaime raised his hand before Sandor could say anything, “Fear not, I vehemently defended our lady’s virtue!”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “At least we _think_ he did. We were so drunk that Ron Jeremy could’ve slipped it in either one of us, I don’t think we’d have noticed.”

Sandor winced at her crude words, “So no plans for today? Just hydrating and recovering?”

“I’m going to head over to the hospital a little later to see my dad. I’ll probably bring take-out, since hospital food does not meet Tywin Lannister’s exacting standards, so you guys can do your own thing.”

Sansa did an inner happy dance. She and Sandor hadn’t had alone time since Christmas night when Nate stayed over and slept in Jaime’s room. A glance in Sandor’s direction showed he was thinking the same thing as his eyes lit up mischievously. 

Jaime, of course, noticed their silent exchange, “Or I could just leave now. I’d hate to delay you from fucking my wife…”

Sandor and Sansa laughed. The ribbing between Jaime and Sandor was always good-natured, and Sansa secretly was a little turned on when the ‘my wife’ or ‘my girlfriend’ card was played in a possessive manner. She patted Jaime’s arm, “No rush, hubby. My belly is still sour, but I’m sure I’ll be in the mood later.”

Jaime lifted his eyebrows sarcastically as he sipped his tea, “Thank God.”

…

It didn’t take more than a few minutes after Jaime left that evening for Sansa to find herself in Sandor’s arms. It took even less time for his scent and taste to have her body thrumming with desire. When he lifted her over his muscled shoulder and carried her upstairs, she knew she was in for a passionate night. When he all but ripped off her clothes and his, he confirmed her suspicion. His coarse beard delightfully scratched her neck and chest and left her powerless to do anything but moan.

In no time she was sprawled out on the bed, naked and wanting. As he trailed kisses down her belly, she heard him mumble beneath his breath, “Too bloody long.”

She snorted at that, “It’s only been a week, I should think that’s not- _ah!”_ Her voice was stolen when his lips met her center. There was no easing into it as his tongue attacked her folds like he was a man starved, lapping at her every nook and cranny while feral moans rumbled in his throat.

By the time a thick finger penetrated her, she was already barreling toward ecstasy, writhing against his mouth as she fisted a handful of his hair. Her face numb, she barely managed to form words, “Sandor… Sandor… FUCK!” She clamped down so tightly she wondered how his finger didn’t break inside her, but her delirious mind had little time to ponder it as seconds later he was between her legs, rutting feverishly. “FUCK!” she cried out, “Too much, _too much_.” She was so over-sensitized it was as if she could feel every detail of his anatomy – the slight upward curve of his shaft, the swollen head, and every pulsing vein.

He ignored her pleas, maintaining a pace that drew another orgasm out of her in what could barely have been a minute. He lowered himself and slowed this time, a small mercy. “God, Sansa… I’ll never get tired of the feeling of you coming around my cock.” His words made a fresh wave of need wash over her, and now the slow pace she begged for moments ago was not enough. After a few sloppy kisses exchanged by their panting mouths he withdrew from her cruelly. “Roll over, Sansa, I’m not done with you.”

God, how his words stoked her lust; Sandor was animalistic in the bedroom, and his coarse words filled her with a sense of empowerment that contradicted the way she submitted to his every command. To be _wanted_ so desperately by this man was a rush she never felt elsewhere.

She did what he told her and rolled over, pushing herself up on hands and knees, purring in anticipation. Behind her she heard him suck air between his teeth, “Fuck me but I’ll never get enough of this view.” Before she could turn around to meet his eyes he was buried inside her again, and she surrendered to the onslaught. Each thrust was tinged with both pleasure and pain as he could reach her deepest depths in this position. She tilted her hips up even further, forcing her most sensitive places into contact with his steel rod of a cock. She rocked slightly, not in contrast with his movements but accentuating the pleasure in each of his thrusts. The pleasure was all-consuming and building back up to a bursting point when she heard a crack and felt a sting on her right butt cheek, followed by the warmth of his hand on the same spot. The nerves in her skin seemed to be directly connected to those at her core when his hand came down again… and then again… She was aware that he was mumbling something behind her, some words of praise or perhaps just an expression of his lust, but the sound of his voice was drowned out by the slapping of skin on skin where their bodies were joined, and occasionally where his hand met her bottom. She needed more, just a little more…

“ _Please_ , Sandor,” she moaned through clenched teeth. She felt herself tightening more with each thrust, and when he delivered the next slap the cord snapped, and she came so hard she screamed into the dark room. Her bones seemed to melt, and she collapsed down to her forearms, hips only held up by Sandor’s firm grip as he plowed into her several more times then released with a throaty moan and a shiver. His left hand stayed on her hip while his right came down heavily on the mattress next to her shoulder. His cock was still twitching inside her when he lowered his face to rest between her shoulder blades, his hot breath tickling her skin.

When they finally parted, they laid side-by-side, catching their breath and letting the air cool their sweaty skin. The familiar feeling of doubt crept in and Sansa was tempted to explain herself – that she wasn’t some weirdo that got off on pain – but the relaxed smile on Sandor’s face told her she had no cause for shame. Instead she offered him a peck on the cheek then headed to the bathroom to take her second hot shower of the day, smiling when the slight draft told her that Sandor had entered and would be joining her to wash away their various excretions.

\----------------------------------------------

Sandor walked into the kitchen and was greeted with the most wonderful sight – one that made him stop dead in his tracks. Sansa was standing at the island chopping parsley – wearing nothing but a skimpy blue apron that covered very little skin.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Sandor grinned as he approached her.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled, “I lost a bet, remember?”

He nodded, though he didn’t remember. He wouldn’t tell her that.

She slid a glass of red wine over to him, “Now take a seat and let me cook for my man,” she smiled widely – no evidence of resentment at having lost a bet.

He did as told, taking a seat at the kitchen table and turning the chair so he was facing her fully. She was now using her bare hands to mix together raw meat and all the ingredients that went into meatballs – Sandor’s favorite. He watched in awe and hoped she’d work quickly as he was already hard as a rock from watching her in her skimpy outfit. Each time she finished rolling a meatball she turned and walked the two steps to the stove to drop it into the sauce, giving him full view of her pert backside which was bare except for a white G-string.

Sandor sat back and sipped his wine, resisting the temptation to touch himself and instead just enjoyed the show. Sansa’s eyebrow arched when she spotted the tentpole in his shorts; he smirked wickedly.

Just then Jaime walked in, greeting Sansa as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. He pressed a kiss to her cheek then stirred the sauce on the stove, “Mmm… spaghetti and meatballs.” He seemed oblivious to her state of undress as he nodded at Sandor, “Hey man.”

Sandor resisted the urge to growl as Jaime poured himself a glass of wine, clearly planning to stay when he took a seat next to Sandor and looking him straight in the eyes, “See? Sansa’s not afraid to wear an apron.” Sandor could only shake his head and refocus on Sansa methodically rolling the mixture into balls as if she had not a care in the world.

With Jaime’s presence Sandor felt the need to adjust himself in his pants and Sansa noticed immediately. With a put-upon huff she lifted her raw meat-coated hands into the air, and looked at Jaime while nodding toward Sandor, “Can you take care of that please? My hands are dirty.”

“Of course, honey!”

Before Sandor could process what was happening Jaime was on his knees in front of him.

“What the fuck?!”

“Oh calm down, Sandor,” Sansa admonished, “A mouth is a mouth, and I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.”

A dozen rebuttals died on his tongue as Jaime pushed down the waistband of his shorts and wrapped his lips around him.

“What the fuck?!” Sandor said again, and again got no helpful response. His mind ordered his hands to push Jaime away, but they were heavy and immovable. Jaime continued working his mouth over him deftly, as if nothing about this was odd. Sandor told himself to hate it – if he couldn’t move to stop it, at least he could choose not to enjoy it – but his fight was weak. He was getting one of the best blowjobs of his life and couldn’t force his body not to respond even as his mouth continued to mutter curses and protests. He dropped his head back, unable to watch what was happening no matter how good it felt. It was like he was trapped in a lifeless body, forced into doing something that should be shameful, yet he felt no true shame as pleasure overrode all other emotions. He was close to finishing. He was going to spend himself in Jaime Lannister’s mouth and he could do nothing to stop it.

Just as the blinding pleasure was overcoming him, his eyes snapped open and he recognized the ceiling fan above him as the one in Sansa’s bedroom, yet the sensations of the dream had not left him, and warm liquid spurted out of him as he shuddered from shame and pleasure with a grunt he couldn’t stifle. He saw his climax through before pushing roughly at the head that was under the blankets, between his legs.

“Ow!” Sansa yelped.

“What the fuck?!” Sandor exclaimed, realizing he was finally able to move.

Sansa sat up on her knees and threw the blankets off of herself, “Well that was really hot until you almost broke my neck!”

Sandor sprang out of bed and stomped into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, neck, and chest, willing away images that could not be unseen even if they’d only existed in his mind’s eye.

Sansa followed him, “Geez, I thought it would be a pretty nice way to wake up. Why are you being so weird?”

He met her eyes in the mirror, “Never. Do that. Again.”

“Umm… okay… sorry,” she crossed her arms.

“What the fuck, Sansa?” he spit out, too caustically.

“What?! What guy doesn’t want to be woken up like _that?!”_

“Me. So don’t do it again,” he growled.

“Fine! But you don’t have to be a prick about it!”

He cursed at himself as she stomped out of the bathroom and began grabbing clothes out of her dresser. It was still dark outside but clearly she’d had enough sleep, and God knows he did.

He followed her, “Look, I’m sorry… it was just weird, alright.”

“Alright, whatever. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” she mumbled.

Now that the remnants of the dream were fading Sandor could look at the situation objectively. Sansa – beautiful, kinky, Sansa – had gone down on him while he was sleeping. He woke up with her lips around his cock, spilling himself into the warmth of her mouth. It should have been one of the greatest moments of his life, only Jaime fucking Lannister had to invade his dream. Seeing Sansa standing in front of him now looking embarrassed and hurt felt wrong. With a huff he squeezed his eyes shut, “Look, it was a nice way to wake up – it just…”

“Startled you?” she guessed.

“Yes. Or, no… it wasn’t _you_ , okay?”

She rolled her eyes, “No one else it could be. Only two people in that equation.”

“Fuck, Sansa,” he rubbed his eyes, “Just take my word for it. It was nice. Really nice.”

_Please let it go. Please drop it._

She didn’t, “So what was wrong about it then?”

Sandor rubbed his hand down his face, “It felt amazing, but I was dreaming while you did it, and the dream got tangled up with what you were doing. That’s all.”

She fought to hide a knowing smirk. Fought and lost, “What were you dreaming of?”

“You. In a skimpy apron, making me meatballs.”

“So I gave you a blowjob in a skimpy apron after making you meatballs? And that was unpleasant for you?” she scrunched her nose, clearly trying to hide the insult she was feeling.

“No… not you. _Fuck_ ,” he moved around her to retrieve his clothes from last night. She was going to drag the truth out of him, and he knew it; he couldn’t be wearing only his boxers when she did.

“So… was there another woman in the dream?” her eyebrow arched.

When Sandor didn’t respond she took it as confirmation, “Cersei? Mya? That bartender that works with Bronn on Fridays, the one with the really big titties?”

Sandor wished desperately it had been any of those women. Sansa would be jealous, he would reassure her he wasn’t interested in anyone else, and most likely she’d end up fucking him possessively. It would be a good day. A good start to the new year.

After a prolonged silence he shook his head. Her eyes bored into his as if trying to read his mind, then they brightened.

_Fuck._

“Bronn? Nate? Jaime? Michael Fassbender?”

Sandor lowered his chin to his chest but offered the slightest of nods.

“All of them?!”

“No! What the fuck?! Just… _fuck!_ Fucking _Lannister_ ,” he practically growled the name. Her mouth dropped open, but he couldn’t let her voice whatever deranged thoughts were running through her mind. “The cocky fucker just showed up uninvited! You were making meatballs for me, because you lost a bet to me… and then you told Jaime to… to… _fuck…_ to take care of me, because your hands were dirty. Now I’ve told you everything, you will not talk about this EVER to anyone, including me, am I clear?”

“Was it good?” she asked hopefully.

“That’s talking about it,” Sandor grit out.

Sansa bit her lip, “Alright, fine. We don’t have to talk about it.” He could tell she was using all her self-restraint – which wasn’t much – to not say more.

After dressing in silence he couldn’t take the tension in the room – not angry tension, but the tension of her wanting to talk but resisting. He sighed deeply, “Fine, you’ve got thirty seconds to get it out of your system.”

She squealed in delight, “Oh my god, that is the _hottest_ thing _ever_. You know, I didn’t want to tell you, but ever since you mentioned Michael Fassbender being your guy crush – or whatever – I’ve been picturing how hot it would be to watch him suck you off. Like, who knew I had a thing for two guys together?! If anything I always thought it would be kind of gross, but now… _huh!_ So don’t be embarrassed _at all._ I know you didn’t try to conjure those images, but even if you had I wouldn’t judge you for it, okay? Cause I totally know you’re not gay, but I love that you’re not a homophobe either. And we never talked about it, but that night that the three of us – well, _you know_ – it was awesome. And don’t get me wrong – I love it when it’s just you and I – **_LOVE IT_** _._ But for a special occasion, once in a blue moon…” her cheeks blushed, “I mean, assuming you liked it, too.”

Sandor pinched the bridge of his nose, “You done?”

She answered perkily, “Just that I love you! And Happy Year! I don’t think I said that yesterday,” she emphasized it with a kiss before prancing out of the room. Sandor could only stand there, trying to wrap his brain around the weirdness that was his life. With a resigned sigh he followed Sansa’s trail to the kitchen, with only one thought in his head…

_This is going to be the craziest fucking year of my life…_


	47. Playing Doctor

Sansa managed to haul in all the shopping totes in one trip, placing them down heavily on the kitchen counter. Lady wasn’t downstairs but that wasn’t unusual – when someone was in bed as both of her _patients_ now were, Lady was usually in the bedroom with them.

Sansa put away the groceries then set upon her task of making homemade chicken noodle soup. It was early morning on the first Sunday in February, and Sansa wanted the soup to have plenty of time to simmer so all the goodness could leach out of the carrots, onion, celery, and chicken bones into the broth. Her men didn’t have much of an appetite, but she’d force it down their gullets if she had to. She didn’t subscribe to every old home remedy but this one she definitely believed in.

As she peeled and chopped the vegetables and put them in the large stock pot, she thought of her two men…

Jaime had come home early on Friday and literally collapsed on the living room sofa, exhausted and sick. He’d been complaining of feeling ‘off’ the past two days but whatever he was fighting had won the battle. Jaime had a 101 fever, body and head aches, cough, and all the other classic flu symptoms. He laid shivering on the couch, dead to the world, until Sandor helped him upstairs to bed.

That night while Jaime rested Sandor surprised Sansa by not helping to do the dishes after dinner, instead saying he was going to bed early. He looked pale but pushed her hand away when she tried to press it to his forehead, grumbling a cranky response about how he doesn’t get sick. Sansa didn’t protest – she knew Sandor didn’t like to show anything he deemed as a weakness, and apparently catching the flu fell into that category. But by the time she joined him in bed that night his skin felt like a furnace and he was shivering violently. She got little sleep as she alternated between bringing him cold rags to press to his head, then bundling him up in blankets and trying to give him her warmth. He was too weak to protest and though she felt bad for him, and was feeling tired herself, she felt a swell of pride that he let her take care of him.

In the wee hours of the morning Sandor finally fell into a restful sleep, which was good timing since Jaime was stirring. Sansa could hear his rattling cough down the hall and helped him to take a hot shower, which offered only temporary relief as he promptly collapsed back into bed afterwards. Sansa brought him cough medicine, cough drops, and honey lemon tea, but he was still miserable – painkillers doing little to relieve the aches in his head, neck, back, and limbs.

When Sansa left him to sleep, she found Sandor ineffectively trying to get dressed.

“Why are you out of bed?! You have the flu!”

“I don’t get the flu,” he answered weakly.

“Fine,” she huffed, “then I guess you won’t have a temperature.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he waved a hand feebly in her direction.

To further prove her point she gently shoved his chest with both hands, and he fell back on the bed. “I just let you do that,” he grunted.

“Okay, I guess I’ll have to get out the big guns,” she pulled her shirt off, then her pants, and straddled him on the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you. Actually… I think I’ll sit on your face – that always turns you on.”

Sandor made a weak attempt to paw at her boobs before his hands dropped away, “Fuck. I’m sick.”

“Yes, and a worse patient than Jaime Lannister, the man who irons his pajamas.”

He ignored her attempt to force him into compliance by wounding his pride, “Don’t fuss over me. I just need sleep.”

“Sandor, you can barely dress yourself much less go downstairs to get something to eat or drive to the store for medicine. There’s no shame in letting me take care of you. Now, tell me what I can get you. Do you want honey lemon tea, or orange juice, or ginger ale?”

“I can get my own fucking juice, Sansa,” he grunted as he buried himself under the covers.

Sansa huffed but would be the bigger person considering he felt like shit. When she returned a few minutes later with a glass of orange juice and some flu medicine he looked surprisingly contrite and reached for her hand, “I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.”

She shrugged, “Don’t sweat it. It’s part of what I love about you.”

When he tried to laugh all that came out was a cough, then a full-on coughing fit.

“Here,” Sansa reached behind him to prop up and fluff his pillows, “You’ll sleep more comfortably this way.”

He looked at her suspiciously, “You still don’t have to take care of me. I’ll sleep today and be better tomorrow.”

She rolled her eyes, “No you won’t; it’s the flu. You’re going to be miserable for a few days, at least. Now take your medicine and drink all your juice.”

“But the Super Bowl is tomorrow.”

“Then take your medicine! Maybe you’ll feel a bit better tomorrow.”

When he finally complied, she gave him a kiss on the head, “Now get some sleep, call me if you need anything. I’m going to go check on Patient Zero.”

She turned to leave but once again he pulled her hand to stop her, staring at her with drowsy eyes that were full of questions.

“Sandor – what’s wrong?”

He looked about to speak but clamped his mouth shut, then repeated the action two more times until she sat on the bed. His voice was uncharacteristically weak when he spoke, “No one’s ever taken care of me before. I’m sorry if—well… thank you.”

She tensed her jaw to keep her mouth from falling open. Sandor _never_ spoke about his past and she gave up asking about it, though her curiosity never ceased.

She had given him another kiss on the cheek and left him to rest.

…

Now, as she filled the stockpot with water and herbs, she found herself once again wondering about Sandor’s past, particularly his childhood. After Thanksgiving she asked Jaime what he knew and he gave her the barest details of Sandor having a rough childhood, and only a violent prick for a brother, but admitted that he didn’t know much himself.

How could he have _no one_ to take care of him? Even shitty parents at least took care of their kids when they were sick, right? She knew he had dogs growing up, so didn’t that mean he had parents who cared enough to buy their kids pets? And Sandor had been severely burned at some point – didn’t he have family or caregivers help nurse him back to health?

Sansa sat down at the island, sipping her coffee. She collected everything she knew about Sandor and realized it was almost nothing. It was so strange to feel like she knew his very _soul_ , as cliché as that sounded, yet knew little of the events that made him the man she was thoroughly in love with. She knew he’d gotten his burns when he was young – but how did he get them? At what age? She knew he served in the military and had heard a couple of funny stories from his time on deployment but was certain there were less pleasant memories he’d never speak of. She knew he worked in personal protection since leaving the military, first for Tywin Lannister, then Cersei Lannister, then Joffrey Baratheon. He never spoke of having any family. He occasionally talked to war buddies on the phone, but Sansa got the impression they lived far away, and he never saw them as far as she knew.

She knew he’d had some romantic relationships in the past, but that they were all short-lived, as Sandor confessed to self-destructing every relationship out of fear of inadequacy. He had no desire to go out socially other than to the bar and occasionally Bronn’s house. He showed no signs of envy when Jaime took Sansa out to the movies or dinner, or for drinks and dancing. He didn’t want to be her date to any weddings or other special events, not that he could. He knew much about Sansa’s childhood because she volunteered it willingly, but he rarely asked, and she now wondered if it was because he feared she would return his questions.

All of this should have made her worry; it should have made her wonder what kind of man she was with. She should have, at minimum, been insulted that he didn’t confide in her his life’s story, yet she couldn’t resent him at all. He’d done something braver than share tales from his traumatic childhood – he’d opened his heart to her and given her all the power to carve it out if she’d choose. He loved her freely – she who was married to another man she also loved. He should be insecure all the time. He should worry about her leaving him – deciding she didn’t need him anymore. But her love had reassured him that she’d sooner cut out her own heart than do anything to cause him pain. Sandor Clegane might have had nothing in his life up to this point that he could rely on, but he was relying on her, trusting her with his heart and soul, and she would never betray that trust.

With a new purpose she crept upstairs, leaving a dose of medicine and fresh glass of water at each man’s bedside – they were both sound asleep – before descending the stairs and grabbing her coat, purse, and keys.

…

It was early afternoon when Sansa returned to the house with even more shopping bags. The stores had been crowded with people stocking up on beer, chips, and cocktail wieners before the big game. She checked on the soup – it was simmering just right.

Grabbing her bags she headed upstairs but was surprised to see no sign of Sandor in his room or the bathroom. If he was outside smoking a cigarette, she would throttle him.

When she followed the sounds of television to Jaime’s room her heart melted at the scene she found. Both men were in Jaime’s California King bed, though on opposite sides, and with Lady between them, propped up with numerous pillows, watching TV.

“Hello Felix and Oscar, what’s all this?” Sansa asked, trying to hide how freaking cute she found it.

“Pre-game show,” Sandor mumbled.

“Yes,” Jaime added, “Apparently there’s a big sporting event today.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, but it was obvious Jaime had been teasing.

“So why are you watching it in _here_?”

“Lannister’s got a TV in his bedroom, I don’t. And I can’t make it down two flights of stairs to the den.”

Sansa had to admit he did still look pallid. It probably took all of his energy to walk twenty feet down the hall to Jaime’s room. Nevertheless Sansa couldn’t help but tease, “You could have watched in my room.”

Sandor rolled his head toward her, “Jaime has a 55-inch TV; you have a 32-inch TV. I’m not watching the Super Bowl on a tiny TV with stuffed animals blocking half the screen.”

Sansa next turned to Jaime, “And you’re letting Lady sleep in your bed? What happened to ‘dogs don’t belong in beds they belong on the floor’?”

Jaime blushed and shrugged sheepishly, “I was cold, and Sandor didn’t want to snuggle.”

“Fuck off,” Sandor’s curse was interrupted by a cough, making it lose some zing.

“Aww,” Sansa pouted, “Well _I’m_ here now!”

Jaime blushed again when Sansa came over to press a kiss to his clammy forehead, “Thanks, maybe later… I’m actually kind of hungry.”

Sansa could only shake her head, “Fine, fine. At least Lady is having a good time.” At hearing Sansa’s jesting tone Lady’s tail wagged. “Well let me go finish up the soup and I’ll bring that up shortly with some crackers and orange juice. Or do you want it with toast and tea?”

“Dealer’s choice,” Jaime smiled weakly.

“Alright. In the meantime, I have some things for you.”

Sandor’s attention finally left the screen when he noticed Sansa digging into her shopping totes. First, she pulled out a stack of coloring books with a box of colored pencils.

“What the fuck is that?” Sandor asked warily.

“My mom always bought me coloring books when I was sick – same for my other siblings. Helps with boredom when you’re bedridden.”

Jaime – the more artistic of the men – grabbed at the Mandala coloring book, “Ooh, this looks really meditative!”

“That’s the idea,” Sansa smiled back, ignoring Sandor’s perplexed expression, “Though I remember my brothers always preferred having some action figures to play with, so here,” she tossed several plastic Marvel action figures onto the bed. Jaime immediately grabbed one, “Oh, Black Panther – he’s hot!”

“I know right?! But I’m partial to Ant-Man and Star-Lord.”

“What about Aqua-Man? He seems more your type.”

“I thought we were just talking about Marvel, not DC.”

That’s where she lost Jaime, who just shrugged.

Sansa smiled at Sandor as she retrieved another toy, “Though, I happen to know _someone_ here has a crush on Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman,” Sansa wiggled the box back and forth seductively.

Sandor snorted, “Yeah, _you!_ ”

“Hey! I only agreed with you that she is a flawless human being.”

Sandor blinked at her knowingly, “Yeah, a flawless human being you want to scissor.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, wishing for once she could keep her mouth shut at least when it came to her weird sexual fantasies.

“Speaking of scissoring,” she pulled out the last box, “How about a little Marvel-DC crossover? Hmm?” she tossed the Captain Marvel figure into his lap, grinning proudly.

Jaime scoffed from his side of the bed, “God, is everything sexual with you guys?”

When Sansa and Sandor looked over, Jaime wore a straight face but had Thor and Black Panther pressed together in a rather indelicate pose. Sansa laughed so hard she folded over, and Sandor couldn’t hold back either, “Damnit Lannister, my head already hurts, don’t make me laugh!”

Once Sansa composed herself, she pulled the last items out of the tote, “In case you get tired of coloring or acting out sex acts with children’s toys, here,” she tossed into Sandor’s lap copies of Sports Illustrated and Hustler, and into Jaime’s lap a copy of Good Housekeeping and a magazine she could not even look at without blushing.

“Uh, full disclosure, when I bought those, I didn’t think you’d be laying in the same bed.”

Sandor looked up at her in shock, “You bought me Hustler?”

“Yeah, well you’re sick, I wanna take care of you,” she shrugged.

He wore the most earnest expression she’d ever seen on him, “I love you so fucking much!”

She was deeply pleased by his reaction but tried to play it cool, “Yeah, you better, I’m pretty sure the pimply clerk at the newsstand creamed in his pants when he saw me buy those magazines.”

“Worth it,” Jaime muttered, already engrossed in a centerpiece that Sansa was afraid to look at.

“Alright, I’ll be back in a little bit with your soup.”

As she walked down the hallway she grinned with pride when she heard Sandor tell Jaime that the Super Bowl was only the second-best part of his day.

After lunch both men were exhausted and ready for a nap; Sandor wanted to conserve his energy to be able to stay up for the game, which wouldn’t come on until 8 PM. Jaime was equally committed to being awake for the commercials and halftime show. Sansa left them to their nap with a promise to wake them up in time for the game. She herself spent some quality time with Lady, called Nate to gush about how cute Sandor and Jaime were, and watched Netflix for a while.

A little before kick-off time she brought them up lemon tea and shortbread cookies. Sandor’s fever had returned but he soldiered through it to watch the game, dozing at slow points and relying on Sansa, who sat between the two of them, to wake him if anything good happened. When the game was over Jaime was sound asleep, and Sandor only still awake by his tremendous will power. A day that should have been miserable for all three of them was actually kind of fun, though Sansa recognized as the only one without the flu, she was a bit biased.

When Sandor rolled to his side and draped a heavy arm around her, her day was finally complete. She snuggled against him, knowing he’d welcome the warmth now but would be pushing her away as soon as a bout of the sweats hit him. She didn’t care, she’d snuggle with Jaime then. It wouldn’t be the best sleep – laying between two men who would at times be as hot as an oven, and at other times shivering so violently they’d shake the bed, but no one and nothing could make her leave them right now.


	48. KISS This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone so long!! Time flies. Hope you enjoy!

“Come on kitten, it wasn’t that bad!”

“I won the challenge; it was supposed to be fun for _me_!” Sansa crossed her arms indignantly. Her black- and silver patent leather-clad arms.

“We _all_ had fun!” Jaime countered. Of course he would think that. And yes, it _had_ been fun. It had been fun spending three hours decking themselves out as the members of KISS. Face paint, wigs, costumes, and boots. Sansa had even tailored and improvised with Sandor’s costume to fit his taller than average frame. They were all in good spirits (except Sandor) when the night started. When they piled into the car, they were already belting out Detroit Rock City. Sansa, Jaime, and Sandor had tied one on, but Nate was the designated driver for the night. Sansa was Spaceman (the only costume without an open-front shirt). Jaime was Starchild. Nate was Catman. And Sandor, of course, was The Demon.

It was fun when they piled _out_ of the car at the arena. It was fun when other concertgoers clamored to take photos with them and complimented their getups.

Yes, it was all fun until a pattern began to emerge... The pattern of women pawing Sandor shamelessly, pressing their chests out as they stood next to him for a selfie, asking him to _‘do the tongue thing’,_ which he was annoyingly good at, and generally slobbering over him and making it pretty clear that, absent a young, fit version of Gene Simmons, they’d be more than willing to settle for a knock-off.

Of course, Sandor wasn’t comfortable with such attention, but either the general gaiety of the environment, his drunken state, or the fact that the makeup covered his scars made him more receptive than he’d normally be. Nate and Jaime found it hilarious, and Sansa could only pretend to be a good sport, but she had no poker face even behind layers of white makeup, and halfway through the concert she was ready to throw down with the next woman who even looked in Sandor’s direction.

Nate, observant as always and knowing her too well, had leaned in to speak to her over the near-deafening music, “You’re not _Catman_ , so there should be no cat _fights._ ”

Sansa could only shake her head and focus on the concert. It was easy enough until everyone filed out of the arena and the attention resumed. Except now all those women weren’t just loose, they were drunk.

By the time they reached the car, Sansa was inwardly fuming, but recognized it was completely irrational and more than a little crazy to be so riled up. Still, she was pretty drunk herself, so her worst tendencies prevailed and as soon as they were in the car, she gave Sandor an earful. A crazy, jealous earful, and Jaime had the nerve to defend him…

“It wasn’t fun for _all_ of us,” she snapped back. “Sandor and you wouldn’t have had fun if you had to watch men grope me all night, so what makes you think it would be fun for me watching him be groped all night?!”

“Nobody groped me!” Sandor held his hands out in frustration.

“Oh their hands were all over you! And worse, you _liked it!”_ she pointed a finger in accusation _._

“San, don’t you think you’re being a little…” Jaime started.

“Crazy?!” Sandor finished.

“That’s the word,” Jaime nodded, “I have to watch Sandor grope you all the time and I don’t get all…” Jaime crossed his eyes and twirled his finger next to his temple.

“A) You get to grope Nate, so it cancels out. B) That’s still _one_ person, not a whole arena full of KISS sluts.”

Nate mock scolded her from the driver’s seat, “Wow. Better not let the donors to the SAIME foundation hear you talk like that.”

Sansa re-crossed her arms, “Fine. Maybe they’re not all sluts, but I’m sure plenty of them were.”

Sandor stared at her as if trying to make sense out of her but eventually gave up and just chuckled, “Sorry, I can’t tell if you’re _really_ mad or not because of the ridiculous makeup and wig.”

Sansa tried to pout but now that they were safely away from the horny concertgoers, she could relax a bit and realize that it was actually something of a milestone for him, and she should be proud instead of jealous. Sandor went out. In a crowd. A _big_ crowd. Dressed in such a way that drew attention to himself. And he had been a good sport about it (or as good a sport as his intrinsic surliness allowed).

She didn’t want to ruin the night for him, so she forced herself to chill the fuck out, “Whatever. I’m glad you had a good time. And that people liked the costumes.”

But just as Sansa’s jealousy died down, Jaime’s reared its ugly head, “You know, how come women weren’t fawning over me?”

Nate shook his head, eyes still on the road, as Sandor snorted.

Jaime twisted further around to look back at Sansa and Sandor, “I mean it… the open vest, the tight pants… I thought I looked pretty hot, but…” he swallowed thickly, “Guys, am I starting to look… _old?”_

Nate smacked the steering wheel, “Oh my _God_! How did I lose the manliness competition to you?”

Sansa patted Jaime’s hand which rested on the center console, “I think you look really hot, Jaime. I have to say, this is the second time I’ve seen you with dark hair and you can totally pull it off.”

Jaime fought to contain a pleased smirk, “Thanks, hon. You look hot, too.”

“We all do!” Sansa stated triumphantly, glad to be over her temporary insanity, “I mean, _look_ at us.”

They all did, and nodded, except for Sandor, “I think we look fucking ridiculous. And I didn’t realize this until today when we were all getting ready, but these outfits are really gay. No offense. Stars, cat whiskers, platform boots. I mean, how have I never noticed how gay KISS looks?”

They all experienced the shared epiphany in silence before bursting out in laughter.

“Alright, we’re doing manly things tomorrow,” Sandor held his hand flat in front of him, “We’re going to eat hot wings and not worry if sauce gets on the couch…”

Jaime gasped in feigned fright.

“And we’re going to watch all the _Lethal Weapon_ movies.”

“No to the sauce, yes to young Mel Gibson!” Jaime responded chirpily.

“Fuck, Lannister. Fine… _Die Hard_.”

Nate shook his head, “That’s young Bruce Willis in a tank top, man.”

“Fuck!” Sandor groaned, “Fine. Forget about a movie, they’ll all have good looking actors and you guys will gayify the shit out of it. We’ll watch a replay of the Super Bowl since I was too sick to truly enjoy it.”

Sansa pursed her lips thoughtfully, “Ya know, I don’t normally like gingers, but Carson Wentz kinda does it for me. Maybe it’s the religiousness… small town boy… I dunno, I just want to be the one to _corrupt_ him!” Sansa scrunched her nose mischievously.

Nate eyed her briefly in the rearview mirror, “Oh my God, Kitten, I know _exactly_ what you mean. I’ll give him a new reason to say, ‘Gods be good’.”

Sandor threw his hands up in frustration, “Fucking A! I know you’re all conspiring to turn me gay. That’s it – you three do whatever you want tomorrow – braid each other’s hair, paint each other’s nails, watch chick flicks… I’m going to the strip club with Bronn.”

Before she could stop herself, Sansa whacked him in the chest.

“Oww!”

“That’s what you get!”

“What? I’m not going to _do_ anything!”

“Fine. Go to your strip club! But just so you know, for every naked booby you see it will cost you one day of seeing _my_ boobies.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I was just joking about the strip club. I don’t even like them. But we need to find something manly to do that you guys won’t corrupt with your gayness.”

And that is how they ended up at the outdoor shooting range the next day, with Sandor teaching them how to shoot his assortment of pistols and rifles. After two hours of target practice, Jaime could once again prove that he was manlier than Nate, who only rolled his eyes and muttered, _“Yeah, but you’ve still never changed a tire”_ – and Sansa discovered that watching Sandor and Jaime fire guns was pretty freakin’ hot.

\--------------------------------------

Bronn rubbed his forehead, “So you fuck Red? And Lannister fucks Red?”

Sandor cringed, “Technically yes, but it’s not just fucking. She’s my girlfriend. And Jaime is her husband.”

Bronn shook his head rapidly, “Nuh-uh. No way. I don’t believe that for a _second_.”

Sandor only rolled his eyes, “Why would I lie about it?”

“To be able to say you fuck your sexy-ass boss.”

“Whatever. You think I’d have gone through all _this_ just to lie?” Sandor motioned at the recently executed non-disclosure agreement. It had actually been Jaime’s idea to bring Bronn into their confidence, or more specifically to have him sign an NDA. Apparently, Cersei’s itch needed to be scratched more than once, and she had been spending more time with Bronn than any of them would have anticipated. Since Jaime wasn’t running for Congress, he was less concerned about the details of his private affairs getting out, but he was still a high-profile businessman, chairman of what would hopefully become a large foundation, and – last but not least – Tywin Lannister’s progeny. Bronn was a very observant man, and he knew that Nate spent a lot of time with Jaime and Sansa, which would be very suspicious to Cersei. The very realistic possibility that Bronn would divulge something to Cersei during their pillow talk made Jaime want to take the _better-safe-than-sorry_ approach.

Though, to Sandor’s surprise, Sansa and Jaime had openly discussed whether Cersei herself should be brought into the fold, so to speak. Jaime knew she could keep a secret, and it would make it so that they could hang out with Cersei without having to banish Nate and treat Sandor like a man servant (though Sansa always made it up to him by being extra amorous the next time they were together, and he tried not to wonder if Jaime did the same for Nate).

As far as Sandor knew, Jaime and Sansa were still deciding what, if anything, to tell Cersei, but as soon as Jaime had suggested Bronn sign an NDA, Sandor found himself eagerly wanting to tell the man – one of his few friends – about his relationship with Sansa. Sandor still remembered asking Jaime whether that would be okay. Jaime had shrugged, _“I mean, if you want to, sure. The dude can obviously keep his mouth shut; this NDA just makes it legally binding.”_

_“So… it doesn’t bother you if I tell him?”_

Jaime looked to be having doubts, _“Well, perhaps you can tell him that you’re Sansa’s boyfriend, and that’s allowed because we have an open marriage? I don’t know if I want him to know about… me.”_

The way Jaime looked self-conscious when he said it was oddly touching. It reminded Sandor how rare it was to be one of the few people who knew about Jaime’s true sexual orientation, and Sandor felt a swell of pride.

Jaime sought to fill the silence, _“I mean, someday… maybe even soon… it would be nice to be able for the four of us to hang out, plus Bronn and maybe Cersei, and not have to keep our guards up… but just…”_

_“I get it. You’re not ready. I won’t say anything about your… leanings. Or about you and Nate. Though for the record, I don’t think Bronn would care. He wants to fuck Idris Elba, remember?”_

Jaime had laughed, _“Thanks for understanding. I kind of feel like a coward, but…”_

_“Hey, you finally stood up to your dad after forty-three years. It’s okay to take things one step at a time.”_

Sandor mused that it might have been one of the most earnest conversations he’d ever had with Jaime, though admittedly they were a lot closer since Thanksgiving. Sansa was still the common denominator, but they could be comfortable when she wasn’t around. They could have a conversation that went beyond ‘what’s for dinner?’ or ‘did the furnace guy stop by?’ Jaime would vent to Sandor about work while Sandor was cooking, when Sansa was out walking the dog or otherwise occupied. They talked about ideas and plans for SAIME. And sometimes, they talked about things of no consequence at all. Like one night when they were watching a UFC fight after Sansa had gone to bed. Despite not being into team sports Jaime did enjoy watching tennis (of course), and both boxing and MMA. Sandor thought at first it was because of the muscular, shirtless men, but Jaime proved to actually know a thing or two about the sport, including submission holds, fighting styles of the contenders, and more.

Sandor almost spit his beer out when, during a commercial break, Jaime had asked nonchalantly, _“Does Sansa every say weird things about your cock when you’re… well, when in the throes of passion?”_

_“Weird things?”_

Jaime scrunched his nose, _“So she was… goingdownonmeafewnightsago,”_ he had spit the words out rapidly for Sandor’s benefit, _“and she said my dick is so pretty she wants to put a collar around it and strut me around the neighborhood on a leash... She said it like a good thing but, ‘pretty’? I don’t know whether to be insulted or not. It was kind of effeminizing.”_

Sandor threw his head back and chuckled, _“Oh, **that** kinda weird. Yeah, once while I was fucking her, she said if I die before her, she’s going to cut my dick off, take it to a taxidermist and have it stuffed so she can use it as a dildo.”_ Sandor had shrugged, _“I chose to take it as a compliment after I got over the initial horror of the imagery.”_

Jaime had stared at him with wide eyes before he, too, burst out laughing.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” Bronn’s rough voice invaded Sandor’s memory.

“Huh? Nothing. I wasn’t smiling.”

“You were so, and it wasn’t pretty.”

“Fuck off.”

Bronn shook his head, “So you know, I still don’t believe you…”

“Whatever, then don’t,” Sandor rose to leave but Bronn pulled him back down to the sofa.

“But if I _did_ believe you, I would say you’re one lucky mother fucker. Ugly, but lucky.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty ugly and lucky yourself.”

Bronn held out his hands casually, “It’s gotten me this far!”

Sandor almost immediately regretted telling Bronn about he and Sansa. He had imagined being able to gush about how awesome Sansa was, how much he loved her, and she him… but he knew now that once Bronn chose to believe him, he’d probably only have crude questions and comments to make. After all, he was _Bronn_.

Not one to disappoint, as Bronn saw Sandor out, he stopped him once again, “So if you _are_ telling me the truth, I need to know: is she as wild in the sack as I imagine?”

Sandor’s jaw clenched, “You imagine her that way?”

“Of course; I imagine every woman in bed… pretty much the first thing I do when I meet them.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “So if you met Betty White tomorrow, you’d imagine her in bed?”

“Already done it! I doubt she’s up to task anymore but during her Golden Girls days, Hell yeah! You know she’d like to have a good time. We’d make each other laugh, too. Nice bonus.”

Sandor rubbed his face, “Bronn, I say this as a friend. You need help. _Professional_ help.”

Sandor headed to his car before things got any fucking weirder, ignoring Bronn calling after him, “You never answered my question!”

\---------------------------------------------

A few nights after Sandor had broken the news to Bronn, Bronn called Sansa to ask if he could bring TJ to the house for help with a school project. Sandor groaned as he eavesdropped on their conversation, hoping Bronn wasn’t simply using the project as an excuse to be around Sansa now that he knew she was Sandor’s girlfriend – well, assuming he believed it. Of course, with TJ present Bronn would have to be on his best behavior, but Bronn’s best behavior was still pretty despicable, so who knew?

Of course, Sansa agreed happily, and a half hour later Bronn and TJ showed up. It was the last Friday in February and an arctic blast had come through. Sandor started a pot of coffee while Sansa made cocoa for TJ.

“So, tell me about your assignment.”

“I have to write about a famous filanthropolis.”

Sansa took the paper he was reading, “ _Phil-an-thro-pist_. That sounds fun! So a four-page biography of a well-known philanthropist. Do you know what that word means?”

“Yes, ma’am. Someone who does a lot of good deeds.”

Sansa smiled at his primitive but not incorrect explanation, “Right. Usually a wealthy person who decides to do good in the world. Have you picked someone yet?”

TJ shrugged, “When I Googled philanthropist Bill Gates came up, but a bunch of the other kids are doing him. I want to do something different. The other ones were Warren Buffet, but he looks boring. And Elon Musk, but Bronn said he’s a whack job.”

Sansa rolled her eyes at Bronn, but a small smirk showed her agreement, “Well, it’s good to pick someone no one else has picked, it’ll make your paper stand out.”

Sandor took a sip of his coffee, “How about Bono?”

TJ crinkled his nose, “Who?”

“Bono. The lead singer of U2. Only one of the most famous and successful rock bands in the entire world…” he waved his hand in the air as if it would help TJ realize who U2 was, but he gave up when he saw it was a lost cause.

Sansa smiled at Sandor’s frustration, “How about George Clooney? Or Angelina Jolie?”

“Eh,” TJ shrugged.

Sansa pursed her lips together in thought until her eyes landed on the bag of coffee Sandor hadn’t yet put away, “I got it! Paul Newman!”

“Who?”

“He was a very famous actor in his day, and he founded Newman’s Own which sells food products and all the profit goes to charity, see?” Sansa showed him the coffee.

“Hey, I recognize that guy! He’s on my mom’s salad dressing!”

“Yeah. Also salsa, spaghetti sauce. What else is there?” Sansa tapped her lips, “Oh, popcorn, lemonade, pizza…”

“I love popcorn and pizza!” TJ exclaimed.

“Me too!” Sansa beamed.

“Yeah, we all know Red,” Bronn raised his brows.

TJ’s eyes brightened, “Hey, you and Mr. Lannister should sell stuff, too… to raise money to teach the kids to build houses.”

It touched Sandor that TJ had that thought, and that what he remembered about SAIME was Youthbuild – the charity Sandor had chosen.

Sansa looked equally proud, “I dunno, I think Paul Newman kinda cornered that market.”

“Well, you could sell brownies and cupcakes instead of popcorn and pizza!”

Sansa played along, “Who is going to make all those brownies and cookies?”

“I can help!”

“Well, I’ll have to talk to Jaime about it, but I’m very glad to see you’re thinking of ideas to raise money for charity. Paul Newman would be proud!”

TJ clearly was proud of himself at hearing her praise.

Over the next couple hours, they all worked together to research and help TJ write the report. When Jaime came in after a long day at the office he was, of course, surprised but pleased to see they had company, and dug into the Chinese takeout Sansa ordered when it was clear they were all too busy with the Paul Newman project to make dinner.

It was only after Jaime’s arrival that Bronn passed Sandor some curious glances that reminded Sandor what Bronn knew. After TJ read the entire report aloud for them, Jaime beamed and pressed a kiss to Sansa’s temple. Bronn’s expression turned from one of curiosity to skepticism – his eyes were saying, _“Yeah, right… he lets you fuck his wife.”_

If TJ hadn’t been present Sandor would have grabbed Sansa into his arms to prove the truth of things. Instead he surrendered to his feelings of envy toward Jaime, which had become so uncommon that he no longer knew how to deal with the emotion. Before he could formulate a plan to get himself alone with Sansa and Bronn, Sansa yawned and stretched, “I need to take Lady out, wanna join me for a cigarette?”

Sandor nodded and grabbed their coats from the foyer while Sansa put Lady’s leash on.

“I could use a smoke,” Bronn popped up from his chair and followed them outside.

“So, Red…” Bronn started the moment they closed the door behind themselves.

Sansa was too smart by half, though she showed no indication. She clearly knew what was up, for she yanked Sandor down toward her and sucked face with him before even lighting her cigarette. Her warm mouth was enough to make Sandor forget Bronn’s presence and he soon had his hands threaded into her hair as hers circled his neck.

Of all the sexual things Sandor never knew before meeting Sansa, it was just how stimulating a kiss could be. When she showed no signs of stopping or slowing Sandor broke the kiss, “Fuck, Sansa… I need to go be around an eleven-year-old kid, won’t do to have a raging hard-on.”

Sansa gave him a final peck, “I know… just been waiting to do that all day.”

When they pulled apart and lit their cigarettes, Sandor turned to notice Bronn staring at them, completely unimpressed, before starting to clap in a slow, sarcastic manner, “Very convincing. You got Red to play along?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “For fuck’s sake… I’m not lying. I wish I never even told you if you’re not going to believe me.”

Bronn’s eyes narrowed, “Lannister in on this? Did he know you were going to tongue Tango his wife?”

“Yes,” Sansa snorted, “He rents me out whenever someone wants to pull a prank.”

Before Sandor could realize or stop it, Bronn had grabbed Sansa’s cheeks and planted a wet one right on her mouth. Barely a second passed after he pulled away before Sansa’s right hand came up and smacked him on the cheek hard enough to turn his head.

Bronn clicked his tongue, “Ok, I believe you.”

“What the fuck?! You’d rather get smacked in the face than just believe me in the first place?”

“I’ve gotten slapped on that cheek so many times, I don’t really even feel it anymore,” Bronn turned to Sansa, “Sorry, Red, but I had to be sure.”

Sansa’s face was scrunched in disgust, “Yeah, you _look_ sorry. I think I should go gargle with Listerine. Do I even want to know where your lips have been?”

Bronn shrugged, “Well, most recently, they were on Cersei’s—”

“SHUT UP!”

Sansa handed off the leash to Sandor and glared at Bronn as she walked past into the house. Without her there as a buffer, Bronn was looking less proud of his recent behavior. He held his hands up when Sandor took a step closer toward him. He wasn’t going to hit him, but he wanted Bronn to wonder.

“Okay, okay! Look, I know you guys went to the KISS concert because you lost a Nintendo challenge to Red. I thought maybe she lost a challenge or bet to you and you made her play along with this ruse.”

Sandor arched a brow, “You believe me now? That Sansa is my girlfriend?”

Bronn nodded, “I don’t understand what she wants with your big grumpy ass, unless it’s to balance out all of Lannister’s handsome chipperness, but yeah, I believe it.”

Sandor nodded calmly, “Good, cause if you ever kiss her again, you’re going to be picking your teeth _and_ lips up off the ground.”

Bronn swallowed, momentarily stunned and frightened, before his usual cheekiness returned and he dared to smack Sandor on the shoulder, “Now _that_ I believe. Come on, Lady’s done pissing and my balls are freezing off.”

“What a shame,” Sandor mumbled under his breath as they headed back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so part of the reason I haven't posted in a while is because I kinda felt like this chapter marks Part II of the fic. Part I was Sandor becoming comfortable with the situation (and Jaime), Sansa developing her relationships with Jaime, Sandor, and Nate, and all of them figuring out what they want / what they're comfortable with. 
> 
> I feel like Part II will involve everyone being more open and comfortable. There will be more JaimSanSan (hold onto your panties, ladies), but they will be more open with those around them, starting with Bronn obviously. They'll all work together some of the time at SAIME, gain even deeper respect for one another, and feel more confident in saying "fuck what anyone but us thinks".
> 
> Of course, that won't all happen overnight, and there will probably be bumps in the road, but you get the idea. ;)


	49. A Friendly Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long ya'll.

Jaime was certain that _not_ running the company was more stressful for his father than running the company. His evidence was the twenty phone calls he got on an average weekday, and ten phone calls he got on an average Saturday and Sunday. Jaime was counting down the days until he could go back to his role in marketing and PR.

Cersei had, surprisingly, stepped up to the plate, essentially running interference for Jaime, making sure only the most pressing matters were brought before him. Over the years, he’d cultivated an image as the most approachable Lannister, so employees and partners tended to bring matters to him that weren’t within his domain. But now he simply didn’t have time for that.

At least the end was in sight. It had been over two months since his dad’s heart attack, and the cardiologist said his recovery was going perfectly. If everything continued on this trajectory, he could return to the office on April 1st – three weeks from now. Jaime only hoped it wasn’t the doctor’s cruel idea of an April Fool’s joke.

Jaime knew he could delegate more to Uncle Kevan, but it felt wrong to do so. Kevan wasn’t getting any younger, and though Jaime was officially middle-aged he had the vigor of a thirty-year-old.

Though Jaime skipped lunch most days, today he would not let anything stop him from running a quick errand.

Luckily his former campaign office was only ten minutes from the Casterly head office. He shook off his stress and walked through the door with a bright smile, noting the SAIME applique on the glass.

Sansa and Brienne immediately looked up. Sansa beamed at him while Brienne offered the slightest curl of her lips. It was the closest she ever came to a smile.

“Jaime!” Sansa called out as she ran to his arms, “I didn’t know you were stopping by!”

“You think I’d miss the first day in the office?”

Sansa clicked her tongue, “Well now I wish I got a ribbon and one of those giant scissors. Of course there’d only be like five people here for it, so it might be kinda lame...”

Sansa and Brienne had been working diligently since early January to get things up and running. Jaime had a new appreciation for all the administrative work that went into launching a foundation. Brienne handled a lot of it, being SAIME’s first full-time employee, but with Jaime busy at Casterly, Sansa was doing everything a president would do in terms of setting the strategy and generating ideas. Surprisingly, Brienne and Sansa worked well together, once Brienne realized Sansa wasn’t an airhead. The foundation had so far only taken funds from their initial donors – Oberyn Martell, Tyrion, Bronn, Myranda, and Jaime himself. His father, in a rare act of altruism, made a very generous donation a week after his surgery. But soon Sansa would need to focus on fundraising, as she agreed to do on an interim basis as she still doubted herself.

Jaime looked around the office, “Where’s the big guy?”

“Went to get us lunch and pick up a few things I needed for the office.”

Jaime quirked an eyebrow, “You’re using him as a personal assistant?”

“What?” Sansa shrugged, “he doesn’t mind.”

Jaime put his hands up in supplication, “Whatever. So, how does it feel working in the office?”

Sansa teetered her hand, “I mean, we got a lot done working from home these past couple months, but this does make it feel more official, ya know? Still, Brienne and I will probably alternate coming in so neither of us needs to commute every day, until we get an intern or someone that can be here in case of walk-ins.”

Jaime nodded. He knew that Sansa would soon be interviewing a few friends of Myrcella’s that were looking for summer internships, but their availability between now and then would only be part time.

“Anyway,” Sansa smiled shyly, “I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but I’d love to sponsor a gala… you know, with a silent auction and all that.”

Jaime laughed, “You just want an excuse to buy a fancy evening dress, don’t you?”

Sansa ran a hand on his chest, “ _Maybe_ … though in my defense, I also want to see you in a tuxedo.”

Jaime wrapped his hands around her waist, “You know, there’s one in my closet, I’ll wear it for you anytime, so long as you ask nicely.”

Sansa rubbed her nose against his, “Pretty please, Mr. Lannister.”

“Get a room,” Sandor mumbled from the front door as he walked in with a paper takeout bag in one hand and several shopping totes in the other. Jaime jogged over to help him, grabbing the takeout bag. Sandor rolled his eyes, “Yeah, just take the food, I got the rest.”

The four of them ate their Vietnamese takeout at the conference table that would someday (hopefully) seat wealthy donors and the presidents of various charities they partnered with. Jaime and Sansa carried the conversation, as Brienne and Sandor were both reserved in each other’s company. Or reserved in general.

“So,” Jaime finished chewing his spring roll and nodded at Sansa, “I invited my dad over on Saturday for an early dinner.”

“Oh?” Sansa looked up, surprise evident on her face.

“Yeah, otherwise he’ll just spend the whole day calling me, anyway. Cersei and I are trying to get him to do things that don’t involve work or stress.”

“How’s that going?”

Jaime shrugged, “I dunno, we have to work _really_ slowly… it’s like the frog in the boiling water thing… we need to make sure he doesn’t realize he _isn’t_ working until he’s already _not_ working.”

Sansa laughed, “So what, did you invite him over to talk shop, and you’re going to slowly weave in non-work-related subjects?”

Jaime lifted his brows, “Pretty much. Maybe we can talk about the Foundation. Even though he thinks it’s a waste of my resources, he still has plenty of ideas of how it should be run… Or maybe we can watch an old black and white movie, or, I dunno… I’ll try to come up with some ideas. I have five days, luckily.”

“We can play a board game,” Sansa suggested.

Sandor’s eyes shot up from his noodles. He shot Jaime a glance. Jaime shared his concern.

“Uh, San, that’s a good idea but you’re kind of… well, I mean this in the _best_ possible way, but when you play games you can get kind of… intense. And my dad is supposed to be avoiding tension.”

Sansa waved a hand, “I can tone it down for your dad’s sake. Besides, you really think playing a game with me is more stressful than owning and running one of the biggest companies in the country?”

Jaime forced a smile, while Sandor returned to his lunch with manufactured enthusiasm.

\------------------------------------------------

Tywin pointed his finger across the table, his eyes narrowed, “If you think I’d give you Boardwalk for your three yellows, you are either stupid or mad.”

Sansa scoffed, “Why not? It’s a win-win. Keep in mind, it’s cheaper to build houses and hotels on the yellows, and you’ll have three properties in the color group to my two.”

“Yes, but one of yours will have an _Advance To_ card… No. This is not an offer I will entertain.”

Sansa was undeterred, “What if I throw in Baltic and Mediterranean?”

Tywin snorted, “ _Slums?_ No thank you.”

“How about the utilities, then?”

Cersei rolled her eyes, “Are we going to _play_ anytime soon?”

“Utilities?!” Tywin barked. “The most I can make is $120 if someone lands there. It’s a _pittance_.”

“Fine, then I’ll just keep taking your money every time you land on Marvin Gardens. That Boardwalk card does you no good without Park Place to go with it.”

“You do not intimidate me, girl.”

“Good,” Sansa crossed her arms, “I like when my opponents underestimate me.”

Jaime finally leaned forward with a huff, “Clearly, there is only one logical way to settle this: shoot-out in the backyard. Survivor is named champion of Monopoly until the end of time!”

Frighteningly, Tywin seemed to be mulling over the idea before he shook his head, “Never challenge a northerner to a shoot-out, son… remember that.”

Jaime could only stare back, “Wow… Wish you’d told me that years ago, Dad. The bullet fragment in my shoulder really gives me grief every winter,” he rolled his shoulder for effect.

Tywin ignored or didn’t recognize his son’s sarcasm. He continued his stare-down with Sansa, “Counter proposal…”

“Oh God!” Cersei threw her hands up, “I’m going to take a nap, call me when it’s my turn.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to miss out on all the valuable life lessons?” Jaime smirked as Cersei rose from the table.

“I’ve already learned the only lesson I’ll ever need to know: _never_ play Monopoly with Sansa or Dad.”

“You two be quiet,” Tywin scolded without looking at them, “As I was saying, Sansa. You give me Park Place, and I’ll give you the four properties abutting the Free Parking space.”

“Two red and two orange?! What the hell am I going to do with them? Jaime has the other red, and Cersei has the other orange.”

Tywin rolled his eyes, “Obviously, you will then have to negotiate with Cersei and Jaime, but do you realize you will quite literally own this entire corner?” Tywin gestured at the board, “It will be a death trap to anyone being released after their jail sentence. Hells, Jaime’s already gone to jail six times!”

Sansa stared at him suspiciously before her eyes softened and her lips curved, “Are you saying I would _corner_ the market?”

The next thing that happened would haunt Jaime for the rest of his days. His father smiled, then grinned, then opened his mouth and the sound that came out sounded almost like… like... like _laughter._

It wasn’t a snort, no. Nor the two-beat chuckle that would occasionally escape if his father had more than three glasses of scotch. It was a full-fledged laugh. Certainly things were rattling around in his chest that had been lodged there for years. Lost keys, an antique pacifier, the deed to Casterly Rock estate.

Jaime finally gained enough presence of mind to turn his head, hoping Cersei was seeing this, for surely, she’d never believe it. He turned and found Cersei, bless her heart, recording with her phone from where she leaned against the kitchen counter. Apparently, she hadn’t left to take a nap, just to refill her wine.

Sansa shared Tywin’s glee for a minute before regaining her composure, “You know what, Tywin? I’m not afraid of a challenge. I accept your proposal. I’ll give you Boardwalk in exchange for your two red and two orange. Of course, I’ll be at a disadvantage since I’ll have to deal with Tick and Tock over here before I can build any houses. But just think: if I win, I get to know I did it while you held the most valuable properties _and_ had quite the head start in your development efforts.”

Jaime sat forward and Cersei moved to stand behind him. After an hour of boredom this game had taken a turn for the interesting. Sansa had, in the most cunning and seemingly innocent way, called out Tywin Lannister.

Sansa dangled the Park Place card, “Here, _take_ _it_ ,” she smiled.

Tywin’s cheeks were red with restrained ire. This is exactly what he _wasn’t_ supposed to be doing, but it was too suspenseful for Jaime to interrupt.

The words rumbled in his chest before being spoken aloud, “On second thought, it would be foolish to let you own the orange, red, and yellow. Three consecutive color groups,” he sighed as if giving up the keys to his house, “here, you take Boardwalk, give me the three yellow.”

Sansa pretended to be rethinking it, “I dunno, then _you_ can trade with Cersei and Jaime and own three consecutive color groups…” Sansa tapped a finger to her lips.

“Fine,” Tywin huffed, “I’ll throw in my two Railroads, as well.”

“Alright, I guess,” Sansa reluctantly reached for his three cards, handing him her three in return. She bit her lip to hide what Jaime knew was a smirk.

Two hours later, Sansa Stark officially beat the Great Lion in Monopoly. For the final hour and a half, Jaime and Cersei had been scrolling through their phones and seeing who could drink more Cabernet.

Jaime would like to say his father lost gracefully, but before Sansa had even delivered the final death blow, he was already demanding a mano-a-mano rematch.

Sansa, who was physically incapable of refusing a challenge, suggested they make the game more interesting by putting something on the line. Tywin arched his eyebrow, intrigued, “What do you have in mind?”

Sansa thought it over, then her eyes lit up, “If I lose, we give you Jaime’s Aston Martin…”

“What?!” Jaime cried out while Cersei cackled across from him.

“… and if I win, you give us your ’67 Shelby GT.”

“Deal,” Tywin stated unequivocally.

“No! No deal!” Jaime grabbed Sansa by the elbow, “Are you INSANE?”

“What? I’m going to win.”

“And if you _don’t?”_

“I _will_. I always win at Monopoly.”

“Sansa, there is a first for everything. It’s a game of chance. You’re going to bet my pride and joy on – _literally_ – a roll of the dice?!”

“Oh come on Jaime,” Cersei mocked, “it’s just a _car_.”

“It’s not just a car,” Jaime spit out through clenched teeth, “It was the first classic car I ever bought. I love that car more than anything!”

Sansa raised her eyebrows, “Gee, thanks!”

“You know what I mean San…”

“I do… because I love your dad’s Shelby. I literally get…” she lowered her voice to whisper in Jaime’s ear, “horny. Like, instant panty-soaking when I hear that engine.”

Tywin huffed loudly, “How about this? If Sansa wins, she gets my Shelby.”

“And if Sansa loses?” Jaime asked timidly.

Tywin’s lips curved devilishly, “Then I get to be the _first_ person to beat Sansa Stark at her own game. And let me be very clear – I _will_ _not_ let you forget it for the rest of my life.”

Cersei stretched her arms out as if trying to cut through the madness, “Wait Daddy, you’re going to put a car that’s worth, what, almost $200 grand, on the line for _bragging rights_? After all you’ve taught us about making sound financial decisions?”

“Cersei, there are very few things in life more important than money. This is one of them.”

“A game of Monopoly?” Cersei asked, perplexed.

“No. _Pride_.”

Jaime shook his head, only then noticing Sansa looked uncertain. “What’s wrong, hon? You don’t have to bet my car, and you may end up winning your dream car.”

“Yeah, but… Ugh! It’s too risky.”

Jaime rubbed his forehead, “Wow. My dad bragging you won’t risk, but you’ll risk my favorite possession? I think it’s time we had a talk, Sansa.”

“You don’t get it Jaime. If I lose, it’ll suck, but I’ll get over it. But if I lose and am _reminded_ of it every time I see your dad… I don’t know if I can live like that.”

Tywin cocked a brow, “Not just when you _see_ me, my dear, I’ll also send the occasional email, greeting card, _text message_ ,” he annunciated the last two words like it was some secret technology only he knew about.

Sansa scrunched her face, agonizing over the decision. Just then the front door swung open and Lady bounded into the kitchen, jumping immediately onto Tywin’s lap. Jaime launched himself to snatch the dog away from his father who would probably call animal control if he found a single dog hair on his slacks.

Sandor came into the room, wide-eyed, “I am SO sorry! She got excited and I dropped the leash. I figured she’d run to Sansa, not, uh… _you_.”

Cersei snorted at Sandor’s unwillingness to call their dad by his first name, or even Mr. Lannister. It was strange to see Sandor afraid of _anyone_ , but that was definitely the word that best described how he acted around Tywin Lannister.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Jaime nodded toward Sandor while Lady struggled to get out of his arms and into Tywin’s lap, “My dad just challenged Sansa to a game of Monopoly. If she wins, she gets his Shelby Mustang. If he wins, he is going to brag and torment her about it for the rest of his life. Shouldn’t she accept the challenge?”

Surprisingly, Sandor winced, “Tough one.”

Jaime stared at him, “Are you fucking with me?”

“No… I need more information. What’s the car’s book value?”

“About $180,000 last I checked,” Tywin answered.

“And the terms of the bragging?”

Sansa answered, “In person, _plus_ he plans to text, email, and even snail mail me!”

Sandor’s eyebrows lifted, “Yikes. How confident are you that you can win?”

Jaime snorted, “Oh, she was _very_ confident when it was only my beloved Aston Martin on the line.”

Sandor looked unfazed. He was deep in thought for the better part of a minute before snapping his fingers, “You should do it! Because if you lose, and the bragging becomes unbearable, you can challenge him to something else to undo the bragging.”

Sansa smiled from ear to ear, “Sandor, you’re a genius!”

Jaime rolled his eyes and spoke flippantly, “But aren’t you worried that you’ll keep losing and end up in a never-ending spiral of bragging and arrogance and _“Dear Sansa, Happy Birthday. Remember when I beat you at Monopoly? Love, Tywin.”?”_

Sansa shrugged, “Nah, I’ll win something eventually.”

Tywin inclined his head toward Sansa, “You’re a brave woman. I’d never have taken that bet.”

Jaime looked to Sansa, “Are you sure he’s not _your_ dad?”

As Cersei helped Tywin into his coat he turned back to his hosts, “This was a very pleasant evening. Enjoy the afterglow of your victory, Sansa… it won’t last much longer.”

“Well enjoy the bitterness of defeat,” she snapped back, “best you acquire a _taste_ for it.”

Tywin flashed his most threatening look; Sansa was not intimidated in the least.

Tywin broke first, dipping his head slightly, “Thank you both for a lovely dinner. Until next time.”

As soon as the front door clicked shut Sansa turned to Jaime and Sandor, “Ok, we’re going to play every night this week. I need to really hone my skills.”

“By playing against _us_?” Sandor pointed between he and Jaime, “Our Monopoly stamina is like, ten minutes.”

“Hey, speak for yourself, I lasted almost an hour tonight before giving up.”

“Whatever,” Sandor mumbled beneath his breath, “but I bet I last longer in bed.”

Jaime’s mouth gaped open in shock, “No! No way. I have the stamina of a… a… something that has a lot of stamina. San, tell him!”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Neither of you has anything to be ashamed of.”

“No,” Jaime insisted, “You have to pick one. Who lasts longer?”

Sansa crossed her arms, “Do I look stupid to you? I am _not_ answering that question because it’s going to give one of you a complex.”

“Right, but _which_ one of us?” Sandor asked, overplaying innocent curiosity.

“Nice try,” she slapped his cheek lightly.

“Well,” Jaime said, “There is a way to find out without Sansa telling us.”

Sansa spun around from where she had started walking back toward the kitchen, interest piqued.

“What?” Sandor narrowed his eyes, “We each time ourselves fucking Sansa?”

“Yeah, why not?” Jaime shrugged, “Write the time down on a piece of paper, and when we’re done, we show each other our times.”

Sandor seemed to be considering it before shaking his head, “No. It’s not scientific _at all_. So many factors go into how long sex lasts... Like how much foreplay was there? Did we do oral first or go right to intercourse? What position? How fast? How hard?”

Jaime nodded, “So you’re saying we need a controlled method? Same amount of foreplay, same position… and Sansa needs to be scripted, too. It won’t do if she’s all moaning and dirty talking with one of us but not the other.”

“Right,” Sandor nodded.

When they both turned to face Sansa, she was staring at them, mouth straight and arms crossed, “Well that went from super-hot to super-not in like, ten seconds.”


	50. SanSan VayCay

Sansa could not stop gasping. Each room was nicer than the last. Each view was more breathtaking than the last. All the real-world stresses evaporated the moment she stepped foot into this literal paradise.

“It’s even more beautiful than the online pictures!” she sighed as she threw herself on the oversized bed, “I can’t decide what I want to do first! Go swimming in the pool? A soak in the hot tub? Sweat it out in the sauna? Or should we walk the path that leads down to the beach? Or wait – are you hungry? I know we’re on vacation, but that kitchen is amazing, I can’t wait to cook in it!”

Sandor was surprisingly quiet and when she lifted her head off the mattress she knew why. As she rambled on and on, he had stripped off everything but his boxer briefs.

“I know exactly what I’m doing first.” His eyes were predatory as he lowered himself to kneeling and pulled Sansa by her thighs to the edge of the bed.

“Sandor, stop!” she giggled as his beard tickled her inner thigh, “Let me shower first… been in the car, then the stuffy plane, then sweating on the ride over here.”

He slipped her panties off but left her dress in place, “Just the way I like you.”

“You’re sick.”

“Then we have something in common after all.”

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh. Sandor knew she loved the way he smelled after a workout, and that she had no issue going down on him first thing in the morning, even knowing he tended to be hot and sweaty while sleeping.

Sandor teased her with his tongue as only he could, making it soft as it lapped at her clit, then hard and pointed to bury it inside her. He was all over the place, knowing it drove her mad.

After minutes of this blissful torture he buried his middle finger inside her, curling up just slightly to rub her g-spot while he sucked lightly on her clit. She couldn’t stop her hand from clamping on his hair as she moaned and pressed herself against his mouth.

As the pressure was starting to build, he pulled his finger out and used it to spread her wetness lower. Sansa knew what we had in mind and couldn’t pretend to be modest when he slid that long finger into her tight hole. That alone was enough to make her cum most nights, but he put his thumb inside her wet channel, bending it so the first knuckle now massaged her inner bundle of nerves.

She was already screaming out every expletive known to man when his tongue touched her clit again. It might as well have been electrified, for it instantly shot a surge of pleasure through her entire body the likes of which she’d never felt. The sensation was so intense she felt the muscles in her face become rigid and tingly, and she laid in bed rubbing her cheeks in big circles to Sandor’s amusement, “What are you doing girl?”

“You made my face go numb,” she mumbled as her fingers pressed the two corners of her mouth together to try to revive some feeling in her lips.

“Mmm…” he moaned, “should we see if we can do it again?”

“No!” she mumbled.

“Was that a ‘yes’?”

She laughed as his lips hovered over hers. When she lifted her head to meet them, he cruelly backed away and spun her over roughly onto her belly. With one of her legs straight and the other bent to the side, he placed his hands on the bed on either side of her ribcage and slid into her.

Sansa had come to love this position with Sandor. She could be lazy, essentially just laying on her belly, while Sandor hit all the wonderful places he would in doggy style. Sandor seemed to particularly like that he could knead and squeeze her butt, and sometimes pull her hooked leg to rest over his thigh, allowing him to penetrate more deeply.

Today, he was hell bent on making her face freeze again, as he spread more of her wetness to her backside and pushed his thumb inside easily.

He let out a relieved moan as he wiggled his thumb while pumping into her. His free hand was kneading the flesh at her left hip, “Fuck, girl. Someday I’m going to take you in this tight little hole.”

Sansa’s eyes snapped open and her heart began to beat rapidly. She had done that once with Jaime, and while it was pleasurable, it was also painful. Moreover, it felt like _work_ just getting him inside. Lube, insert a small bit, pull out, lube some more, then go in a little further. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. To neither of their surprise she came the second he was fully sheathed and reached around to stroke her clit. But as he moved, even slowly and gently, it did sting. She didn’t tell him to stop. She’d given him a thorough blow job as part of their foreplay and, apparently, she had the tightest hole he’d ever fucked (Jaime’s words) so he came apart pretty quickly.

And there had also been the _preparation_. If not for the fact that Jaime clearly had one that he used on himself, she would have been _mortified_ when he handed her a contraption that was, well, she called it a butt douche. She was grateful to learn it wasn’t a full-on enema, but she was not expecting anything other than a shower as part of the ‘cleansing’ process. Then of course, Jaime wanted to stretch her using a butt plug. That part wasn’t so bad, since they sometimes used one during sex, but all in all, it was a lot of _work._

Did Sandor know how much work went into it? Had he ever done it? A fear of Sandor someday trying to just slip right into her using no lube other than her own juices flashed in her mind. Of course, she knew he wouldn’t do that without warning… right? Yeah, definitely… maybe…

Another emotion invaded what should have been an occasion of nothing but sexual bliss: would Sandor be angry that she had anal sex with Jaime but not him? There were logical reasons, of course – Sandor was _larger_ , for one, and Jaime was more experienced, for two. Sandor would no doubt understand, but would he be mad that she hadn’t told him immediately after it happened? It was only about two months ago, but still…

As he continued pumping into her, oblivious to her inner dilemma, she let out a delayed chuckle, “I don’t think you’ll fit.”

“Oh, we’ll make it fit.”

_Fuck!_

“You can’t _make_ it fit if it doesn’t fit! It’s like the square peg round hole thing!”

Sandor laughed, “Except my peg _is_ round… as is your hole,” to emphasize his point his thumb worked inside her more fervently and despite her mental panic the dual stimulation sent her over the edge for her second orgasm of their Costa Rica vacation. Hopefully it would be but two of many.

Her cumming around his dick had its usual effect. Sandor grunted, his voice becoming even deeper and raspier than usual, “Fuck Sansa. You tell me you don’t want to feel my cock in here?” he panted, “I’ll put money that you cum before I’m even all the way in… fuck, _fuck_ …” with a final grunt he shot his load, folding over her and panting against her hair before dropping to his side, his hand resting on her waist.

_Tell him now before it gets worse!_

_Fuck off, voice in my head!_

_No, fuck you bitch, you know I’m right._

“Sandor?” she asked innocently.

“Hmm?” he grunted, sounding as if he were already almost asleep.

“So… just so we’re on the same page… I have done that before… and I still think you’re too big.”

_Please just say okay and be done with this conversation!_

He snorted, “Then someone didn’t know what he was doing.”

“He definitely did. It felt good, I came and everything, but it still made me sore.”

“Well, yeah. Sometimes your pussy is sore if we fuck at an awkward angle, or too many times in one day.”

“Yeah, that’s true… so you know what to do then?”

He snorted, “It’s not rocket science, Sansa.”

“No, but there is still some… preparation.”

Sandor sighed, “Do you think I’m a moron?”

“No! But, like, in porn, they don’t show the preparation. I want to make sure you know you just can’t stick it in one day. I’m pretty sure I’d end up in the ER, and that is the most embarrassing ER visit I can imagine.”

Sandor laughed, “I know, Sansa… now stop worrying about it. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

Having that reassurance made a funny thing happen – now Sansa was indeed, worried – that they’d _never_ try it.

“I didn’t say that! I just want to make sure if we do it, that… ya know…”

“That I don’t split you in two?”

She shook her head against his forearm, “You’re like the Shakespeare of the 21st century!”

He laughed, “I speak plainly and honestly. And as I recall, you like it,” he pinched her butt and she squealed.

They had started dozing off for a nap when Sandor’s voice rumbled behind her, “Who did you have anal with, anyway?”

Sansa’s heart froze, “Oh, um… this guy in college, one time. And then one other time… with Jaime.”

[Silence]

[More silence]

[Excruciating silence]

“You had anal sex with Lannister… and not me?”

Sansa shot up, sitting on her heels, “It’s not like that! You’re bigger than him down there… and with him being gay and all I figured he’d know what to do.”

“So you figured I _wouldn’t_ know what to do?”

“No! It was the size thing more than anything! I thought I should ease my way up to your… girth… more gradually.”

Sandor sat up, “What else have you done with Jaime that you don’t do with me?” His tone was calm but she could hear jealousy trying to seep through.

“Nothing!”

His eyes narrowed.

“What?! I mean it. In fact, I sixty-nine with you on a regular basis, and I’ve only done that maybe twice with Jaime.”

“Twice still counts. What else?”

“Umm… well you and I have had sex on the dining room table!”

“That’s just a different room! I’m talking about the act itself.”

“Well, there are only so many sex acts!”

“Think!”

“Umm…”

“Has he used your vibrator on you?”

“No!” she exclaimed, “I have a different vibrator in his room! … Oh…”

Sandor sighed, “Fine, whatever, but before we leave this continent, you’re going to think of something you’ve never done with Jaime, and we’re going to do it.”

Sansa nodded passionately but already was worried that there might not be anything she’d never done with Jaime. At least within the relatively un-kinky boundaries she was comfortable with.

“And if you can have anal with him, you can have anal with me.”

“Sandor!”

“What? No I didn’t mean it that way, I’m not going to force you, I just mean, it’s not like he’s _small…_ down there.”

Sansa’s lips curved into a smile of their own accord.

“Oh come on, don’t say anything. You know I’ve seen him, shouldn’t be a surprise.”

Sansa held up her hands, “Of course! And you’re right, he’s not small, but compared to you…”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Don’t try to kiss my ass, girl. At most I’ve got an inch, inch and a half over him. Maybe a bit thicker around, but not by much.”

When Sansa remained silent Sandor suddenly realized he’d said too much. His eyes widened, “I mean, just from a quick glance. Not like I’ve gotten out a measuring tape and compared.”

[Silence]

“Oh fuck off!” he rose and stomped into the bathroom. Sansa followed.

As he began pulling toiletries out of a travel case he groaned, “It’s not a _gay_ thing… it’s a _guy_ thing, alright? I mean, he's married to the woman I love, gets to fuck the woman I love... I need to know that, ya know, that I’ll always have _something_ over him.”

Sansa put her hands up, “I didn’t say anything!”

“Fucking _Lannister_ ,” Sandor growled as he turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat, “Looks like Prince fucking Charming. Rich. Cultured. With his big house and all his fucking cars. Being all witty and likeable. He makes me sick.”

“But you’ve got a bigger weenie,” she offered around a grin.

“Damn straight,” he nodded definitively.

“And you make me laugh more, though you both make me laugh a lot.”

“Aye, fair enough.”

“And you’re bigger, and stronger.”

“ _Much_ stronger. _And_ I know how to change a tire. What else?”

“You’re _straight_.”

“Yeah! I almost forgot about that one!”

They stepped into the shower together, “Your tongue is longer.”

“Mmm…” Sandor kissed her with said tongue, and she was already ready to go another round. “Keep going,” he whispered against her mouth.

She laughed, “And I’m hopelessly in love with you. Like, I think you’re my soulmate.”

“Aye, that’s a pretty good one.”

“And you fuck harder. Like an animal,” she wrinkled her nose.

He groaned and pulled her hips against his. She smiled to realize he was already hard again.

“And it takes you less time to recharge between… _sessions."_

She yelped as he lifted her effortlessly. Wrapping her arms and legs around him, she let him prove just how true some of those statements were.


	51. Love All Around

The day Sandor and Sansa left for Costa Rica Jaime was ashamed to feel a bit like a kid on the last day of school before summer break. It wasn’t that he wanted them gone, per se, it’s that he was looking forward to alone time with Nate. Nate would Uber over on Friday after work and stay until Sunday night. All weekend would be a little slice of domestic heaven. They’d live like a modern, happily married gay couple. No beard wife around, no hulking bodyguard – not that Jaime thought of Sansa and Sandor in that way, but he recognized that a “normal” couple would have neither around.

They cooked a simple meal of chicken vegetable stir fry on Friday. Well, Nate cooked, Jaime assisted. They talked about work, talked about SAIME, and Jaime recounted not one but two games of Monopoly that led to Sansa being the proud owner of a 1967 Shelby Mustang GT, and his father almost having another heart attack, but ultimately suffering the loss as gracefully as possible.

After dinner they snuggled up on the sofa to binge several episodes of Project Runway – a show that neither Sandor nor Sansa had the tolerance for.

At some point Nate spoke the words that perfectly captured Jaime’s exact thoughts in that moment, “I feel like we’re teenagers taking advantage of your parents being out of town.”

Jaime laughed, “Yeah, but teenagers wouldn’t waste a minute of that precious alone time by cooking dinner or watching a TV show.”

Nate nuzzled into Jaime’s neck, “Mmm… how _would_ they spend their time?”

Jaime was half-hard from the embrace of Nate’s warm breath.

“Well, I would probably expect at least a hand job.”

“Hand job? Wow, you’re taking this teenage lust thing seriously, aren’t you?”

Jaime chuckled, “I’m a good boy. I don’t fuck on the first date.”

“Who says it’s our first date? We’ve been going steady since 7th grade, remember?”

Jaime nodded, “Ah, how could I forget? I’m your first, right?”

“Mmhmm, and I’m your tenth.”

Jaime feigned insult but his mouth snapped shut when Nate’s hand snaked into his jeans, tugging in a way that was neither teasing nor idle.

“So you’re going with a hand job anyway?” Jaime chuckled.

“For starters.”

Jaime closed his eyes, leaning his head against the sofa, “Alright, then I’ll pretend I’m a fifteen-year-old who doesn’t yet know how good a mouth or _other_ parts feel.”

“Wow, first hand job… you remember yours?”

Jaime nodded, “Michelle Davis. You?”

“Paula Sickler.”

Jaime reached across to unbutton Nate’s pants and return the dry but not unpleasant favor, turning to kiss Nate on the lips while they each kept a firm hand on the other’s shaft.

“If Paula and Michelle could see us now,” Nate smiled against Jaime’s lips.

“Wouldn’t it be something if they were doing the same thing with each other?”

Nate scrunched his nose, “Don’t ruin this for me by eluding to that which shall not be named.”

Jaime rolled his eyes but complied. Nate’s vagina aversion was unrelatable for Jaime. To Jaime, both male and female bodies offered various and sundry pleasures that he was loathed to forgo. The tight wetness of a pair of lips working in tandem with a curious tongue. The silky warm wetness of a cunt, hugging every inch of your cock. A throbbing cock, like silk over steel. And, last but not least, the greedy tightness of a puckered hole, sucking you in after putting up a dubious resistance.

Nate broke his musings as he stood, dropping Jaime’s cock in favor of his hand, “Need you baby,” he said with hungry eyes. Jaime let Nate lead him up the stairs of his own house and into his bedroom, where Nate took his time pulling off every article of Jaime’s clothing, kissing a new area of exposed skin after each step. A light slap on the butt was Jaime’s queue to get in bed, and he did so eagerly, watching with bated breath as Nate stripped himself down for Jaime’s visual enjoyment. His dark tan, chiseled abs were Jaime’s personal favorite. Or perhaps it was the taut muscle that curved from him to knee.

_No, obviously it’s that beautiful cock bobbing in the air, the one that fills me up just perfectly._

Nate was never ashamed of his body; it was one of the many things Jaime loved about him. He walked casually to the nightstand, retrieving the bottle of lubricant then sitting down next to Jaime, enjoying the view before it was time to play. He trailed his fingers from Jaime’s sternum down to his neatly trimmed pubic hair.

He squirted a dollop of lube directly onto Jaime’s cock, spreading it around the head with tentative fingers then swirling his entire palm across the top. He didn’t break the intimate contact as he positioned himself between Jaime’s legs.

After a few more teasing strokes he put a healthy squirt of the lube into his other hand then began stroking himself. Gods, his cock shimmering in the moonlight filled Jaime with near-painful anticipation. When Nate rubbed more lube against Jaime’s backside the thrill rushed into him. He loved being taken, perhaps even more than he liked taking, though both had their merits.

“You ready for me, baby?” Nate asked in the same tone of genuine caring that preceded all their lovemaking.

Jaime smiled at him, “Always.”

Nate leaned over him just enough to align himself with Jaime’s entrance and began the slow push inside. Jaime was well accustomed to this part and loved how Nate knew to keep stroking his cock through the process. He loved feeling the slow march that culminated in Nate bottoming out as Jaime’s muscles swallowed and held him deep within.

“Gods, Jaime, you feel so fucking good,” Nate exhaled once he was fully sheathed. He kept still while Jaime adjusted.

Once Jaime gave him the nod, he began pumping into him in long, gentle strokes, never pulling out completely even when applying more lube.

Nate stroked his cock idly, not wanting to bring him to peak too quickly, though the dirty talk negated his efforts, “You love when I fuck you, don’t you baby?”

Jaime grunted out an affirmative.

“You’re so fucking good, Jaime. Always taking all of me… so good,” he breathed as he picked up the pace, dropping his hands to Jaime’s hips to hold him in place. Jaime took over the duty of playing with himself, but did so teasingly, knowing Nate loved to watch him stroke his fingers around his head, or drag them up his long shaft. It wasn’t always the case, but tonight he was fairly certain he could climax by the penetration alone.

“Harder, baby,” Jaime begged, his voice already hoarse.

A moan escaped Nate’s throat, “Then I’m not going to last very long.”

“Me neither, fuck me harder, please,” Jaime spoke through gritted teeth.

Nate complied, fucking him roughly as his balls slapped against Jaime’s tail bone. It brought the slightest tinge of pain that ignited Jaime’s pleasure and made him lose all sense of restraint and decorum as he gently bucked his hips up and down, doubling the sensation.

“I’m so close, baby,” Jaime moaned as he circled his thumb around his swollen head.

“I wanna watch you cum… bring me over, baby, so I can fill you up,” Nate panted.

His words broke the last remaining thread and Jaime came hard, his ass shuddering around Nate’s cock as hot seed spurted out onto his belly. Nate grunted and gave a few more hard thrusts until he pushed himself into Jaime, whole body going rigid while he poured himself deep… so deep.

Later, as they laid in bed content in the other’s arms, Jaime voiced a question that had been on his mind for months – one that Jaime willingly let get buried under valid excuses of stress and long hours at Casterly and doing his part with SAIME.

“You still think about having kids?”

Nate snorted into Jaime’s chest, “Why? Worried I just knocked you up?”

Jaime chuckled, “I mean it… look I don’t want to sound needy, but what happens when you meet someone – some guy that has everything you want and also wants to have a family.”

Nate shrugged, “I dunno. I’ve met a lot of guys, Jaims. Been with a lot of them. None of them hold a candle to you… but don’t let that go to your head.”

“But… would you settle for someone if they were willing to give you what you want – family, kids… public acknowledgement?”

Nate huffed, “Where is this coming from, Jaims? You’re the one who never wanted to commit. And now you literally _can’t_ commit. I don’t think—”

“No, it isn’t like that. It’s just… well, after that big fight with my dad I talked with Sansa. Actually it was more like an argument. I pretty much said I was giving her an out. I told her she should be with Sandor, have kids if they want to.”

“Okay…”

“Well she didn’t want to. She said she loves our life. Loves me, Sandor, even you.”

“Okay… what does this have to do with me?”

Jaime sat up, “Well I said some shit to her. Pretty much flat out told her she’s going to get tired of our weird little foursome someday. Or at minimum have to choose between our foursome and a traditional family unit if she wants to have kids.”

“Yeah, what’d she say?”

Jaime snorted, “She told me to fuck off.”

Nate laughed, “Gods I love that woman.”

“I know,” Jaime rolled his eyes, “but she also said that maybe we could have it all. Live our lives, be ourselves, but also have kids. Tell the world to fuck off… I mean, it’s not the craziest thing. Will Smith and his wife have an open marriage, and kids, and no one is coming after them with pitchforks and torches.”

Nate sat up, playfulness gone from his face, “Jaime, what are you saying?”

Jaime ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t know. I’m not sure. I guess, hypothetically, if Sansa and I had kids, and decided to be totally open, would you want to be a part of that?”

For a minute Jaime thought Nate was going to get up and leave. His mouth hung open, matching the eyes almost bugging out of his head. He stared at Jaime, incredulous, “You would do that?”

Jaime shrugged, “I might. Not _tomorrow_ , but… someday maybe?”

Nate threw his arms around Jaime’s shoulders, “Baby, all I ever wanted was to see you be happy in your skin. To live your life without fear of judgment. The fact that you’re willing to even consider it when in the past this topic always led us to an argument… well damn, Sansa has accomplished in ten months what I couldn’t do in four years.”

Jaime smiled and felt tears well in his eyes as he felt a huge weight had been lifted. Nate was already running off on tangents – talking about how their kids would be awesome – Nate teaching them to be artistic, Sandor teaching them to be tough and capable, and Jaime teaching them to be generous and kind.

Jaime rolled his eyes but secretly shared Nate’s excitement, “What about Sansa?”

Nate shrugged as if it should be obvious, “Sansa will teach them love.”

Jaime bit his bottom lip to repress a watery smile.

“I love you so much, Nate.”

Nate smiled warmly, stroking Jaime’s hand, “Love you too, Jaims… but just out of curiosity, do you think Sansa would be open to…”

Nate turned away looking suddenly embarrassed. It wasn’t an expression he wore often.

“What?” Jaime implored.

“Alright, so if the idea of this freaks you out, we never have to talk about it again, but…”

“Nate, just spit it out, you’re making me nervous.”

“Alright, well you know I’ve always been a supporter of adoption, but also love the idea of having my own kid, I mean, a biological kid.”

Jaime furrowed his brow, “You want to raise one of your kids in our household?”

“Well… sort of. I mean, if we have this whole perfect happy family, you have a kid or two with Sansa, what if I also had a kid with Sansa?”

Jaime blinked.

Nate shrugged, “Maybe she’d want to have a kid with Sandor, too. We could move into a big house together, raise our kids together as siblings, which they would be, though with different dads.”

Jaime was speechless. Nate frowned, “Sorry, that was too much to ask.”

Jaime shook his head, “No, it’s not. I mean gay guys use surrogates and egg donors all the time, right? Sometimes strangers, sometimes friends… it just, I dunno, a whole lot of weird scenarios ran through my head. Like Sansa showing up at parent-teacher night with three men. Or people thinking she’s some slut because she has three kids with three different last names.”

Nate shrugged, “Well, maybe we give all the kids Sansa’s last name, so they all feel even more like siblings.”

“Nate, if my dad doesn’t get a Lannister grandson out of me…”

“Alright, yeah… the name thing is stupid. I don’t even know why I’m bringing this up, so let’s just—”

Jaime clasped his hands, “You’re bringing it up because you want a kid of your own, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. But if we float this idea past Sansa, I think terms like “baby factory” and “broodmare” are going to come out, bookended by some choice expletives. But just for the record, if Sansa was opposed to doing that, I would support you having kids in some other way.”

Now Nate was tearing up, “Jaims, you’re the best. And that crazy redhead is the best thing that ever happened to you, and I’m only a smidge jealous to admit it.”

Jaime wrapped his arms around his man, “Baby, you’re everything to me, don’t you know that? My love for Sansa, even for Sandor, it doesn’t diminish how I feel about you. If anything it makes me love you more because now my heart is getting so much exercise in that regard. I feel fulfilled in ways I never felt before, and you are no small part of that.”

Nate smiled proudly, “Damn straight.”

…

Sansa leaned against Sandor’s sturdy chest. It was the second day of their vacation and everything so far was the definition of perfection. The house and everything around it was absolute paradise, and there was no man in the world she’d rather share it with. She knew Sandor was enjoying himself, too – particularly the privacy the secluded property offered.

Sansa exhaled as the sun began its descent, “You know, it’s so beautiful here it’s like being on a different planet.”

He hummed against her shoulder in agreement.

“Are you happy, Sandor?”

“Never been happier in my life,” his arms tightened around her waist as he spoke into her neck.

“I know you’re happy right _now_ ,” she giggled, “I mean in general. Back home. Are you still good with everything?”

She felt him sigh against her skin, “Sansa, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not good at pretending to be happy when I’m not. I barely look happy when I _am_ … so if the day comes when I’m not happy, you’ll know it, believe me.”

She nodded, knowing his words to be true, but there was more she needed to say, “I don’t regret anything, Sandor. And I don’t say this to make you afraid, and certainly not to make you feel like you’ve been deprived of something, but if things didn’t happen as they did – if I never was set up with Jaime and you and I just met randomly somewhere and started dating… Fuck, I’m prefacing this too much. I mean to say that I’d marry you, too.”

He was uncharacteristically speechless. She continued, “I know you think no one would marry you because of your scars, or because you’re aloof, or because you don’t like going out and socializing, but I would deal with it, for you. I’d sacrifice a lifetime of dance clubs and having a plus-one at friends’ weddings to be with you. Do you hear me?”

He nodded against her cheek, “I know, Sansa. But you shouldn’t have to. And you wouldn’t be as happy. You’re happy now. You might be happy with just me, but you would miss all that other stuff. And we’d argue as a result, which would make you even less happy.”

Sansa nodded, “I guess you’re right. But I’d still marry you…” She turned to face him, “Would you marry me?”

He snorted, “I’d marry you so fast you wouldn’t even see it coming. If you weren’t married now, I’d marry you right on this beach, with only the fish in the sea and the birds overhead as our witnesses.”

Sansa laughed before an idea struck her. She jumped to her feet, “Let’s do it then.”

He looked up at her, brow furrowed in confusion. She held out her hand, “Come on, or was that all talk?”

He stood up, “You’re already married. And the fish and birds aren’t really qualified to be witnesses, or officiants.”

“Just us, baby. Just a promise between us.”

He stared at her hand long moments before letting her drag him further onto the beach, just above where the water was rolling up.

She turned to face him, holding both his hands in both of hers, “Sandor Clegane, I vow to love you before all others. I vow to never stop having fun with you, laughing with you, making love to you. You’ve given me your heart and I swear I’ll keep it safe, always. I’ll never hurt you, never give you cause to question my love. I promise to always take care of you, even though you’re a big baby when you’re sick. I’ll love you until the end of my days… I’ve never been surer about anything in my life.”

Sandor was staring at her again, stunned into silence. When he spoke his voice was thick with emotion, “Sansa, I swear I’ll always love you, even when you make me dress up as Gene Simmons or eat two dozen pierogis or whatever other shenanigans you get me roped into. I’ll never hurt you and I’ll never let anyone else hurt you. I’ll love you until the last breath I take. The only thing I ask the Gods is to make sure that I leave this world before you, because living even one day without you would shatter me into pieces. I’ll make you as happy as I can and will never deny you the happiness others can offer. I’m yours, to the end of my days.”

Sansa was crying and smiling. Sandor was teary-eyed and smiling, and still a bit stunned.

She looked up at him bashfully, “You may now kiss the bride.”

He laughed to himself then took her face between his hands, smoothing loose hairs back before pressing his lips to hers.

…

Jaime and Nate were beginning to doze off at an embarrassingly early hour for a Friday night, when Jaime’s phone buzzed. He picked it up off the nightstand and began laughing uncontrollably at the photo that Sansa had sent him. It was taken on the beach, Sansa’s slender hand placed over Sandor’s much larger one, with seaweed knots tied around each of their ring fingers. Sansa hadn’t removed her wedding ring with Jaime to take the shot.

Nate leaned over to look then shared in Jaime’s amusement.

Jaime texted her right away.

**Me: Nate says he isn’t buying you a wedding present since he already lets you have me.**

**Sansa: I thought I let him have you?**

**Me: Ooohhh… now I know how you feel when Sandor and I fight over you. I like it.** **😉**

**Sansa: See?! Do you want me and Nate to fight over you? I’ll definitely win, because I can just whip out my vagina and he’ll cry uncle.**

**Me: LOL. So wait, do you have two husbands now?**

**Sansa: Yes, but nobody knows it but us and the seagulls. But Sandor said we can still call him the boyfriend. He thinks “husband 1” and “husband 2” is a bit of a mouthful.**

**Me: I won’t argue. While we’re on the topic of polygamous marriage, would you ever consider having Nate’s baby? Don’t worry, we’ll use a turkey baster.**

**Sansa: Natey cakes wants me to have his baby!!??? AAAHHHHH!!!!!!**

Tired of texting, Jaime dialed her. She answered right away. He chuckled into the phone, “Should I take that as a yes? Before you answer, know that we would raise our kids, your kid with Nate, and potentially your kid with Sandor all under one roof. Like a 21st century version of the Brady Bunch.”

_“Oh my god! I love it!”_

“Um, did you smoke up today?”

_“Nope, just my everyday brand of crazy.”_

“Wow, I totally thought you’d be pissed that Nate even mentioned it.”

_“Why would I be pissed? Nate would be such a good dad. But he does know that if he has a son, he has to be supportive even if he’s straight right?”_

Jaime laughed. Sansa continued even though she was giggling pretty hard, too, _“I mean, he can’t send the poor kid to one of those camps that tries to pray the straight away.”_

“I can hear you bitch!” Nate grumbled into the phone.

_“Good!”_

“You know, when I paint you, I’m going to add ten pounds.”

_“Huh!! Then I will chase you around with my vagina and when I catch you, I’m going to rub it all over you.”_

In the background Sandor grumbled.

“Eww! Good thing we already finished fucking,” Nate responded with a look of disgust that wasn’t entirely feigned.

 _“Ooh… was it good?”_ Sansa teased, and Jaime could imagine her eyebrows wiggling.

 _“Oh for fuck’s sake!”_ Sandor must have grabbed the phone, _“Not even married ten minutes and I’m already considering a fucking annulment. Goodbye gay and gayer, I’m going to go fuck my wife… in her nice wet vagina!”_

Jaime dropped the phone from laughing so hard. The dark horse won the race as Nate threw his hands up in surrender.

The call was ended; no doubt Sandor had flung Sansa over his shoulder and was carrying her back to his cave.

...

It was the last day of their perfect vacation before they’d return to reality. Sansa looked forward to seeing Jaime and to resuming her work with Brienne, but she didn’t welcome leaving the bubble in which she and Sandor had lived for the past week.

It was midafternoon and they were both pleasantly buzzed, as they’d been almost since the moment they arrived, only pausing when they left the house to explore the beach or walk the trails in the surrounding forest.

Without speaking, they mutually agreed to spend their last full day in Costa Rica at the house. A morning swim in the infinity pool was a nice way to rouse sleep from their bones. A light breakfast followed, then lovemaking in the large shower. They cuddled in bed for a bit after that, but neither wanted to risk sleeping the day away.

But four hours and two bottles of wine later they found themselves back in the luxurious bed, teasing and tickling, kissing and touching. They were passionate but unhurried. Neither planned to sleep much tonight, as they’d have time to do that on the plane tomorrow.

Sandor eventually made his way between her legs, using his deft tongue to bring her to two fully satisfying orgasms. He kissed up her body then, eager to take her, but she had other plans. She rolled him over and he watched her with amused expectancy as she didn’t straddle him but rather installed herself between his legs, grasping his thick cock as she circled the head with her tongue. Sandor moaned and put one arm beneath his head, resigning himself to lay back and be pleasured. His face bore that relaxed look he always had on such an occasion.

Usually raw want would have her sucking him brutally by now, but she kept her end goal in mind. She owed him something he seemed to have forgotten about – something she’d never done with Jaime. In this case, it was something she’d never done with any man. She was equal parts nervous and excited as she focused on working him up until he would permit just about anything that would lead to a release.

She licked along his shaft teasingly before sucking one of his balls into her mouth. He bucked his hips up instinctively, and she offered some of the contact he sought by stroking him languidly, her hand slick with her own saliva.

“Fuck, Sansa. Stop teasing,” he groaned.

_As you wish…_

She took him into her mouth but continued at a pace that wouldn’t bring him to the edge prematurely. Her wet fingers stroked his balls then continued south as she hoped he wouldn’t notice with the distraction of being sucked off. But when her middle finger pressed against his puckered hole he practically jumped out of his skin.

“What the fuck are you doing, girl?”

“Something I’ve never done before…” she answered between kisses along his shaft.

“Well, it’s going to stay that way.”

If she didn’t know him so well, she’d have only heard the objection and not the curiosity that made his voice slightly softer than normal. He’d never agree outright, she’d have to wear him down.

She continued sucking him, rubbing the outside of his hole unobtrusively.

“Sansa…” he growled.

“You told me to do something I’ve never done with Jaime.”

“I didn’t mean this.”

“Well I can’t think of anything else,” she continued stroking, hoping he’d warm to the sensation.

She resumed her oral ministrations, removing her finger only long enough to coat it in more of her saliva that had pooled at the base of his shaft before returning it to its destination. She gently pressed in again, making slight progress.

“Fucking Lannister,” Sandor groaned. She knew it was permission to continue, so she did. With the first obstacle removed, she now set upon the second – figuring out how the fuck to do this. She wasn’t sure precisely where a man’s prostate was, or how it was best stimulated. Steady pressure? Gentle stroking?

Keeping her lips around his cock she continued pressing in until she felt she had moved past the rigid rim of muscle, then curved her finger up and began stroking carefully.

Sandor was uncharacteristically quiet, no doubt waiting for this to feel either really weird or really good. It seemed he wasn’t even breathing. She smiled against the tip of his cock, “Relax, baby.”

He released a put-upon sigh, but she felt his muscles relax, and his breathing resumed.

She continued exploring with her finger while her other hand stroked his cock at a more earnest pace.

She was beginning to wonder if perhaps this just wasn’t Sandor’s cup of tea when he suddenly hissed and jerked his legs at the same moment a surge of blood pulsed tangibly in his cock.

“Fuck…” he whispered, breathless.

Sansa smiled triumphantly and continued pressing and rubbing that spot while her hand stroked him.

“Fuck… fuck…” he groaned, his mind seemingly battling his body’s natural reaction.

She knew he needed reassurance. She licked the tip of his cock, keeping her mouth close as she moaned, “This is so fucking hot, Sandor.”

It wasn’t a lie. She’d brought him to peak more times than she could count, but never had she seen him look vulnerable in the face of an impending climax. It seemed the pleasure was so overwhelming that it left him at a loss for both words and thoughts. His head dropped back on the pillow, both hands now clinging to the sheets at his sides. His back was arching slightly, pressing himself against her finger more firmly. She recognized this must be how she looked when he pleasured her with his tongue or fingers, but she knew better than to verbalize that comparison.

“Fuck… fuck…” he repeated, his voice trembling.

“I want you to come this way, baby. God I need you to come…”

“Fuck,” he offered the only word he seemed capable of vocalizing, now with slightly more energy. His legs were twitching, his hands fisted in the sheets. She couldn’t tell whether he was holding back or desperately struggling to find his release, but either way it was so fucking hot that she could feel her channel dilating, aching, and dripping. The cock in her hand taunted her with the relief it could offer, but she stayed the course.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” he growled, just as his cock swelled in her hand before exploding like a geyser. His seed shot out in pulses, landing all the way on his chest. She stroked him until nothing was left, at which point his hand flew to hers to still her. She stilled the other hand, too, but didn’t withdraw as his muscles had clamped around her finger and still held on tight.

Sandor was panting, eyes closed, and seemingly unaware that her finger was still inside him until she slowly began to pull it out.

Leaving him to recover she went into the bathroom to wash her hands and bring a damp rag back to him so he wouldn’t have to get out of bed.

His eyes remained shut until she sat on the bed beside him, about to clean off his chest. He looked down at himself and rumbled, “Fuck, I gave myself a pearl necklace.”

A laugh burst out of Sansa’s mouth and he stared at her threateningly, “You’re not telling Lannister about this.”

Sansa shrugged, “Why not?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t. You think he’s going to judge you?”

“No, I think he’s going to think it means…”

“Means what?”

“You know!”

“No I don’t!”

“Fuck, he’s going to think I like having things shoved up my ass. Might be he’ll think to shove himself up my ass.”

Sansa shook her head, “What? You think he’s just going to slip it in while you’re asleep?”

“I’m not fucking around, Sansa.”

“Neither am I. I won’t tell him, if that’s your wish, but I think your concern is unfounded.”

He grumbled but gave no more protest. Sansa laid down and pulled him to roll on his side, spooning her.

As she always did, Sansa wanted to talk, to tell him how awesome it had been, and that she couldn’t wait to do it again. But, as he always did, Sandor was snoring into her hair within minutes. She supposed an afternoon nap wouldn’t hurt either of them, and she’d likely awake in an hour or two with his hard cock nestled between her legs…

She was right.

He slid into her from behind before she was fully awake and aware. Within seconds he was setting a blistering pace that Sansa suspected was meant to redeem his manhood, not that it was needed. He could wear pink lipstick and carry a purse and he’d still be the manliest person she’d ever known. Even so, she stroked his ego by being extra vocal about how much she loved his cock. It seemed to work as, after he peaked, he rolled to his back and pulled her against his chest, a satisfied smile on his face like he’d just won some type of contest.

He seemed more than willing to spend the night in a cycle of sex and naps, but she wasn’t ready to give another hour of their alone time to sleep.

“Hey Sandor,” she whispered casually while twirling his chest hair.

“Hmm?”

“Remember when you were sick? You said you never had anyone take care of you?”

The stiffening of his body was slight but noticeable. “What about it?”

“Did you mean never _ever…_ or only since you’ve been an adult?”

He sighed loudly and she was sure she’d get no answer but was wrong. “Never ever. At least, not that I can recall.”

“Oh. So your parents…”

“Dead. Don’t remember my mom, and nothing about my dad is worth remembering.”

“Okay.”

He sighed again, “I can hear the questions in your head, Sansa, but the answers aren’t pretty.”

She nodded, “So you won’t tell me?”

“Didn’t say that, just don’t know why you’d care to know.”

She leaned up on her elbows, surprised it wasn’t obvious, “Because your past is what made you who you are today, the man I love.”

He barked out a laugh, “Whatever you find love-worthy about me, I can promise it didn’t come from my past.”

“Then where did it come from?”

He shrugged, “Who the hell knows? Where does anything come from? What makes one person smart, one person dumb? What makes one outgoing, another shy?”

Sansa nodded, “Good point. My mom had five kids, and she said each of us had our own little personalities even as infants and toddlers. Some fussy, some calm. Some inquisitive, some not. Some reckless, some cautious.”

“Aye.”

“I was calm, inquisitive, and cautious. I wonder what you were like as a baby.”

“No one alive to answer that, though if I had to guess I’d say fussy, inquisitive, and reckless.”

She laughed, “I believe the inquisitive and reckless, but I think you weren’t so fussy. You’re so laid back now, it’s impossible to imagine you crying just to get attention.”

“Mm… perhaps you’re right.”

She bit her lip and let a comfortable silence fill the space before she voiced another question, “So do you have any other family?”

“No.” 

“Not even cousins or uncles or aunts?”

“No, never had them. Only a mom, dad, and brother. All gone now, and probably for the best.”

“A brother?”

Sandor stiffened again, “He doesn’t even deserve to be talked about by me or learned about by you. He doesn’t deserve to exist in your kind mind… you’d probably try to imagine some redeeming qualities. There were none. That’s all you need to know.”

“I believe you,” she whispered.

“Good. Now back to sleep so I can fuck you again at least three more times tonight.”

“Okay. Thanks Sandor.”

“For what?”

“For talking a bit, and for not getting mad at me for asking.”

He turned to look at her for the first time since they woke, “Is that what you think?”

“What?”

“That I’ll get mad at you for asking?”

She nodded, “Kind of…”

He kissed her forehead and pulled her into his arms, “Never, Sansa. You deserve the truth, and I’d never get mad at you for asking or wondering. I only… I get mad thinking about the past. But not at you.”

She nodded, “That’s okay. I know your heart, Sandor. That’s enough for me.”

He sighed and, if she wasn’t mistaken, choked a bit on a lump in his throat, “You’re unreal, woman.”

It was tempting to point out that he was pretty unreal himself, but she suspected it wasn’t wanted or needed by him. So she snuggled into his chest and closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... so a couple notes:  
> 1) I've never written M/M sex, so I can only hope I did it justice.  
> 2) The 21st century Brady Bunch may be something the future holds for our foursome, but it will not happen anytime soon since this fic is all about fun and fluff and smut, and pregnancy/kids would get in the way of that. I just really needed everyone to be on the same page, that it isn't one or the other, because that would be a dark cloud over their relationship. It makes sense that Jaime would share the conversation he and Sansa had with Nate.  
> 3) Hope the beach "wedding" wasn't tacky but Sandor deserves some acknowledgment. He's comfortable knowing he has Sansa's heart, but even manly man like Sandor Clegane need to hear it sometimes.


	52. You'll never guess

“What happened to your face, dude?”

Sandor stopped what he was doing cutting boards for the wheelchair ramp he was helping to build. It was a relatively small job, so it was just Sandor and one other volunteer, a retired contractor named Jack, and three of the kids that had joined YouthBuild to learn a trade. Today they were building a wheelchair ramp for a paraplegic war vet. It was Sandor’s first time volunteering with the organization, though Sansa and Jaime had encouraged him relentlessly since December.

The one who asked the question – Patrick – was an eighteen-year-old high school dropout who’d grown up in the foster system.

Knowing Sandor was representing SAIME, he couldn’t tell the kid to fuck off.

“Ran into a burning building to save a kitten,” Sandor responded nonchalantly.

Patrick scrunched his face, “Seriously?”

“Nope.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and let out a huff, “In the war then?”

“Nope.”

“Meth lab?”

“Nope.”

“Chemical peel gone wrong?”

Sandor actually chuckled at that one. The kid had balls and, apparently, an imagination.

Sandor sighed, “You really want to know?”

Patrick nodded.

“I mean _really_ want to know?”

“Yeah dude, why else would I ask?”

“Fine,” Sandor crossed his arms. “When I was about your age I was at this party on the beach. Bonfires, music, beer, girls… you know the type... Well there was this big fucker there. And I mean _big…_ ”

Sandor watched the intended reaction form on Patrick’s face: shock and fear at imagining how big someone else must be for Sandor to call him big.

“Anyway, this big fucker was mean, too. Always had been. No one liked him, but everyone was too chicken shit to stand up to him. You see, he had scars on his face. _Burn_ scars. Well I suppose I had one too many and thought I was tough, so I walked right up to him and asked him how he got his scars. He told me some obviously bullshit answer, but I didn’t give up. I just kept pestering him all night. Eventually he asked me if I _really_ wanted to know. I said yeah, and so he showed me. Shoved my face right into the nearest bonfire. When he let go, he said ‘that’s how’.”

Patrick’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Sandor struggled to suppress a smirk.

“Now, you done asking questions? Cause you need to measure about a dozen more boards.”

Patrick nodded quietly and went back to his task, leaving Sandor to stun himself with the realization that he’d come up with a new response to use whenever someone asked about his scars.

…

Nate found Sansa and Jaime snuggled up on a lounge chair Friday night. It was early May but still chilly after dark, especially so close to the lake. Jaime and Sansa were giggling about something, but then again, when weren’t they?

Seeing Sansa had her legs draped over Jaime’s lap, Nate hooked his thumb over his shoulder, “Beat it bitch.”

Sansa’s mouth dropped open in mock affront, “Is that any way to speak to the future mother of your child?”

“Ugh…” Nate rolled his eyes, “I regret ever saying anything about it. In fact, I think I was drunk that night, right Jaims?”

“Sober as a judge,” Jaime smiled.

“Wow… some help you are.”

“Come on, enough of that,” Sansa lifted the blanket that covered them both, “There is plenty of Jaime for _both_ of us to snuggle with.”

He had to admit that was true. Jaime somehow made Sansa and Nate feel equally treasured when in his company, and he did it naturally and effortlessly. The man was born to be a lover, and it still made Nate sad to think of all the years he had refused himself the joys of a committed relationship.

Nate took the seat on Jaime’s other side and Jaime let out an exaggerated sigh of contentment, “See, this is why I love Nate. Sandor never lets me be in the middle.”

Sansa and Nate chuckled in chorus.

Jaime smiled, “You know, I think for my birthday this year I’m going to ask to be the middle spoon for a whole night. He can’t deny me on my birthday, can he?”

“Oooh… can I get in on this spooning action?” Nate wiggled his eyebrows.

Jaime’s eyes widened, “I wish, but no. Me and Sansa are living like a pair of tightrope jugglers, trying not to overwhelm his gay tolerance. It’s a very delicate balance. The slightest disturbance and… dead jugglers.”

“Well,” Sansa corrected, “Dead juggl _er_. He won’t kill me. Just you.”

“Wow, thanks.”

Nate laughed, “Well what if I sneak in after he falls asleep? I can be very light-footed.”

Sansa blinked, “Which side of the spoons are you going to lay on, mine or Sandor’s?”

“You really going to make me say it?”

“Shut up, bitch. This is a matter of life and death.”

“Fine,” Nate groaned, “I’ll lay on your side, but I am not responsible for where my hands end up in the night… anyway, where is the big guy?”

Sansa answered, “At Bronn’s helping to install a new water heater. Oh – P.S. do _not_ call it a _hot_ water heater, or Sandor will blow a gasket.”

Jaime chuckled, “Yes, because it doesn’t heat water that’s already hot. So technically it’s a cold-water heater.”

“Right,” Sansa nodded. She checked her watch, “actually, he should be back soon.”

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Sandor’s raspy voice sounded from the back door.

“Hey babe! Gang’s all here.”

Sandor sat across from them on the other lounger, “Good… you’ll never guess what this kid asked me today while we were building the ramp…”

Sansa threw her hands up, “Wait! Don’t tell us! What do I get if I guess right?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “It was a figure of speech, I didn’t mean for you to guess. Anyway…”

“No! I want to guess. And if I guess right, you have to do something for me. And if I guess wrong, I’ll do something for you.”

Sandor huffed, “This never works, Sansa—”

“We won’t do sexual favors this time. And nothing big either, this isn’t the KISS concert thing or the nude modeling thing.”

Sandor finally relented, “Alright. If you guess wrong, I want a back rub tonight. And a good one, with oil. And a happy ending. And you can’t watch TV while you’re doing it; I want your full attention.”

“Fine. If I guess right, all four of us are going to spoon tonight, in the configuration of Nate’s choosing.”

Nate gasped, “Love you kitten! The configuration will be me, Sandor, Jaime, Sansa.”

Sandor shot up from his seat, “No! I’m not being sandwiched between two men. No thank you.”

“Fine. Sandor, me, Jaime, Sansa. Deal?”

“Wait – which direction are we facing? Am I spooning you or are you spooning me?”

Nate rolled his eyes, “Duh, you spoon me. I spoon Jaime. Jaime spoons Sansa.”

“And I’ll spoon Lady!” Sansa peeped, catching the pup’s attention from where she dozed at their feet.

Sandor stood up and paced, “Damn this is hard… my shoulders are really stiff from working on the ramp then helping Bronn lug his ancient water heater out of the basement…”

“Kudos for calling it a ‘water heater’ and not a ‘hot water heater’, man. That drives me crazy!” Nate spoke casually.

Sandor looked so genuinely touched that his stance softened, “Alright, you’ve got a deal. But don’t get your hopes up. What are the odds Sansa guesses what the kid said?”

Sansa stood up and immediately began pacing, “Ok. It’s something you would tell all three of us, not just me. And it can’t have been just some random comment or joke, because you wouldn’t tell us that, you’re not that chatty…”

Jaime leaned in to whisper in Nate’s ear, “It’s like watching Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel, isn’t it?” Nate chuckled while continuing to watch Sansa pace and ponder.

“Alright. What would a teenager ask Sandor? To buy him beer? No, Sandor wouldn’t think that worthy of telling us. No… this was something personal… He said something about me or Jaime, maybe he knows us… but no, how would he know Sandor's affiliation with us…”

She stopped her pacing to stare into Sandor’s eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he growled.

“Do what?”

“Stare in my eyes like you can read my mind. It’s fucking creepy,” he averted his eyes, but Sansa kept staring. She stared and Sandor looked increasingly uncomfortable. Her eyes narrowed. His arms crossed. She chewed her lip; he licked his nervously.

“He asked about your scars,” she stated as if she already knew the answer.

“What?! How the fuck…?!”

“Yes!!” Sansa jumped up victoriously.

“How the fuck did you guess… that’s… how the…” he huffed, “That’s not even the interesting part of the story. I was going to tell you about my response to him.”

“Oh yeah? What did you say?”

Sandor sat down with a pout, “I don’t want to tell you anymore. The moment’s gone.”

“Oh, honey…” Sansa sat down and wrapped her arms around his neck, “How about I give you a massage anyway, since you’re stiff?”

Sandor raised his eyes hopefully, “And a happy ending?”

“Yes, of course. That way you’re nice and relaxed for our snuggle fest tonight.”

Sandor groaned, “Whatever… all I know is there is a fucking conspiracy afoot.”

Jaime laughed, “What do you mean?”

“You know. You’re all conspiring to turn me gay. Nate with his comments, Jaime by being all nice and compassionate, and Sansa by…” he stopped himself and flushed bright red.

“Sansa by _what_?” Nate asked.

“Nothing… just… you know, making me spoon with you guys and all that.”

Sandor wasn’t a great liar, but Sansa didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. She was suddenly fascinated with the stars up above.

Nate dropped his voice an octave to convey his seriousness, “What did Sansa do? Sansa, what did you do?”

“What? Nothing!” she squeaked.

Sandor grabbed her wrist and led her toward the house, “I’ve got a backrub and happy ending coming my way. You two have fun doing whatever the fuck you do when we’re not around.”

After they were inside Nate and Jaime looked at each other and shrugged in unison. “Project Runway?” Jaime asked.

…

Jaime let out a breath he’d been holding for three hours.

“Wow… Jaime that went way better than I expected.”

“Glad you think so, I sweated through my shirt! Your dad is… _intimidating_ … and that’s coming from someone who was raised by Tywin Lannister.”

Sansa gripped his hand over the console of the Mustang, “My dad is a very nice man. He was just acting… _fatherly_ , I suppose. Just put yourself in his shoes. Imagine your daughter in this arranged marriage that you orchestrated and…”

“I would _never_ do that to my daughter. Oh – I mean, not that I think less of your dad for—”

“I know. I’m glad you wouldn’t be that kind of father. For what it’s worth, I agreed with the plan. My dad never would have forced me.”

“I know. Let’s just focus on the positive. Your dad didn’t kill me with that carving knife, and your mom… well, she didn’t kill me, either!”

“Jaime,” Sansa giggled, “It was better than that. I think they get it, you know? I think they see that we’re genuinely happy. It’s hard for them to believe, but I think they do.”

“Well, I _can_ be rather charming,” Jaime teased.

“Mmm…” Sansa stroked his chest, glad to see he was finally relaxing, “You even made my parents laugh a few times.”

“Well, it was at my dad’s expense, but… yeah, I guess that was good.”

“And the way you talked about SAIME… they could see how passionate you are.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah. And no one can hate you when you smile. Those dimples. I just wanted to kiss them,” she let her hand drift lower, cupping his groin through his slim fit trousers while kissing the very dimple that had tempted her all throughout their early supper with her parents.

“Uh…” Jaime moaned, “Wait, we’re parked in your parent’s driveway.”

“No one’s looking.”

“You don’t know that… come on, let’s go.”

She didn’t release him, “Okay. I suppose we shouldn’t push our luck. My dad does own a shot gun.”

Jaime gulped, “He does?”

“Mmhmm… and a few hunting rifles. And a couple handguns. They’re locked away though, all very safe.”

“Sure… let’s go,” Jaime stuck the key in the ignition and waited for Sansa to do the rest.

She rolled her eyes as she pressed the clutch and started the car, but then an idea struck her.

She knew the area well, having lived here for most of her childhood. She told Jaime she was taking the scenic route. In May it made for a very nice ride.

She found the rarely frequented overlook and parked the car. With a wink at Jaime they both stepped out and took in the sight of the hills and the lake below.

“Wow… it’s beautiful here,” Jaime whispered.

She let him take in the view for a few minutes before getting to the real reason she had stopped here. She dropped to her knees in front of him, peering up from under her lashes with the innocent expression she knew drove both Jaime and Sandor wild.

When she reached for his belt Jaime gripped her wrist, “Christ, San!” His head spun every which way.

“It’s almost dusk. No one is around, and even if they are, so what? We’re a married couple, enjoying each other.”

“We’re public figures. We run a foundation!”

“Yes, a _progressive_ foundation. Besides, political and corporate figures get caught with prostitutes all the time. You think anyone will even blink an eye over you getting caught with your wife?”

Jaime grit his teeth, “Fine… but in the car.”

Sansa clapped her hands together, excited to christen her car, only to quickly remember what she’d learned as a teenager – that car sex isn’t that good. The back seat was too small. The front seat left nowhere for her to put her feet. The top of her head rubbed against the ceiling, making her hair staticky. They each bumped their knees and elbows multiple times. Eventually Jaime huffed in sexual frustration and pulled her out of the car only to surprise her by bending her over the hood.

And with the critters of the forest as her witness, she finally found a form of car sex she could enjoy.

“Fuck, Jaime… don’t stop!”

“God, Sansa… fuck…” he groaned, “I think I hear a car...”

“I don’t care… don’t stop… don’t stop… don’t… don’t don’t don’t STOP!!!” she screamed so loud that birds flew out of the trees.

“Fuck, San…” Jaime grunted. She could tell he was close when a white Jeep with official state park emblems came to a stop in the road just beyond the lookout. Jaime ripped himself away with a curse.

“Shit!” Sansa pulled down her skirt and kicked her panties, which had somehow been clinging to her left ankle all this time, under the car while behind her Jaime zipped and belted himself.

And older gentleman rounded the Jeep with a knowing grin on his face.

“You folks alright?” he asked.

There was no pretending he hadn’t seen them. Like the coward she was, Sansa slunk behind Jaime and buried her face in his back.

Jaime answered, “Uh, yes. Thanks. Just stopped to…”

“Enjoy the view?” the man finished.

_Oh God! Kill me now!_

“Yeeuppp…” Jaime teetered on his feet.

“Welp, suppose I don’t have to tell you that this is a public park. You aren’t the only two here.”

An involuntary whimper of humiliation left Sansa’s mouth, but she hoped it was muffled by Jaime’s body.

“You alright, ma’am?”

_Oh God, I’m begging you to kill me!_

“Yep! Thanks for asking!” she called out without peeling herself away from Jaime’s back.

“Look, sir. I think we’ll just be on our way now…” Jaime spoke smoothly.

“Sounds like a good idea, young man. Don’t forget your lady’s… _undergarments…_ wouldn’t want to think of what some teenage boy might do if he came across them.”

_Oh God! Where is a lightning bolt when you need one?!_

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Jaime bent down to retrieve her panties, leaving her without her human shield. The old man was walking back to his Jeep but made a point to tip his hat to her.

“Oh, and Mr. Lannister,” the man called over, “the parks system appreciates your support.

Back in her car, this time with Jaime in the driver’s seat, Sansa tried to formulate an apology. When she finally opened her mouth to speak, Jaime held up his pointer finger, “Uh-uh.”

“But—”

“Nope!”

“But Jaime—”

“Shhhhttt!”

Sansa zipped her lips and kept them zipped for the whole ride home. She knew Jaime wasn’t truly mad, but he was definitely annoyed. Probably as much at himself as at her, but that was little relief.

When they walked into the house Nate and Sandor were in the den watching the basketball playoffs. As if he’d just walked, not driven, from her parents’ house, Jaime plopped down in the recliner, “You’ll never guess what happened today.”

“Sansa’s dad punched you?” Nate guessed.

“You punched Sansa’s dad?” Sandor guessed.

“Sansa’s _mom_ punched you?”

Jaime held out his hands, “It was a rhetorical statement. And no, no one punched anyone.”

Sandor nodded, “Sansa’s mom _slapped_ you?”

Jaime snorted a laugh, “No slapping, no punching, no physical violence… well, actually, there was some _slapping_ , in a sense.”

“Oh God!” Sansa turned and headed for the stairs.

“Ah-hah!” Sandor stood up with a snap, “You had sex somewhere in the Starks’ house and someone walked in on you.”

Jaime turned to Sansa who stood frozen in embarrassment, “Should we give it to him? That was pretty close…”

Sansa’s response was a very stern glare.

“Damn!” Sandor cursed, “I never said what I’d get if I guessed right!”

With a sigh Sansa ascended the stairs only for Jaime to call out to her, “Where are you going?”

“To my bedroom, where I can die of shame.”

She ignored the protests and went to bed. Only it was apparent the next morning that Jaime had told the guys _everything._ Nate “you’re welcomed” her for taking care of Jaime’s blue balls, and Sandor asked if she wanted to go for a “scenic” drive.


	53. Not decent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is utter, smutty ridiculousness.

Sandor rolled his eyes, at risk of getting an ocular migraine if he kept doing so. It was Sansa’s birthday – May 13th – and she was bummed that Jaime had to be in Europe for the week. Though his father was back at work full time for over a month, a week-long trip to Europe to handle negotiations with one of their global clients wasn’t a task anyone thought he should be handling alone. Jaime had recounted _that_ conversation to Sansa and Sandor one night a couple weeks back. Tywin had bristled at the notion that his children thought he needed a babysitter, but ultimately the man relented, as he always liked seeing Jaime handle responsibilities outside his domain of marketing and PR. Grooming Jaime to one day take over as CEO was one of Tywin’s lifelong missions.

Sandor knew not to take Sansa’s somber mood personally. It wasn’t that his company wasn’t enough; rather, she just enjoyed being surrounded by all her men on special occasions. Sandor was fairly certain that having himself, Jaime, and Nate around helped to replace the emptiness she felt over her rift with her own family. At least that rift seemed to be starting to close after her and Jaime’s supper with her parents. Sansa also texted with her siblings more often – mainly her younger brothers.

Though Sandor had offered to take her somewhere fun for her birthday – amusement park, beach, zoo, or even a fancy restaurant for dinner – she opted for something more low key. They had lunch and a few drinks at the bar, with Bronn joining them at their table occasionally since the suburban bar was slow on a Thursday.

Sandor was only somewhat surprised when Cersei showed up around 1:30 and joined them. He was fairly certain she came to see Bronn though used the excuse of joining Sansa on her birthday since Jaime was out of town. Though Cersei still didn’t know about the arrangement, she wasn’t surprised to see Sandor there, knowing that he was more than just an employee to Sansa and Jaime.

After separating from Robert, Cersei was more laid back and allowed herself to converse with Sandor as if he was _almost_ an equal instead of mere manservant.

“So Jaime will be back Saturday afternoon – you going to celebrate this weekend?”

Sansa shrugged, “We talked about going into the city to see a show, or maybe to a salsa club, but I expect he’ll be jetlagged. We might go out next weekend instead.”

Cersei’s eyes widened, “Don’t you dare go salsa dancing without me!”

Sansa groaned good-naturedly, “Do you promise not to try to kill us this time?”

Cersei waved a hand, “It was New Year’s… don’t be so dramatic.”

Sansa snorted a laugh, “Yes, well, ask Sandor how Jaime and I spent the next day.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Sprawled out on the bathroom floor like a two-person frat house… actually, I seem to recall being offered ten grand to leave you two to die in peace. Lannister owes me.”

Cersei giggled, “A Lannister always pays his debts!”

“I didn’t know Lannisters had any debts,” Sansa teased.

“Good point,” Cersei nodded.

Bronn strutted over, a bar rag draped over his shoulder, “What you folks talking about?”

Cersei gave him a look of annoyance that no one believed was genuine, “Jaime and Sansa might go salsa dancing. Wanna join them?”

Bronn shrugged, “Well, I like salsa and I like dancing. Count me in.”

Cersei reached up to pat him on the cheek like he was a well-behaved dog, “This man is so easygoing.”

“And this woman is so easy,” Bronn responded without missing a beat.

Cersei wasn’t the least bit insulted by the inference, “Life’s too short not to enjoy all the pleasures it has to offer.”

Sansa’s cheeks reddened and Sandor had to fight to contain a grin. Cersei sure had taken a 180-degree turn. For someone who’d spent at least two decades with a stick up her ass, she was now offering advice as if she was the ultimate authority on having a good time.

…

Back at the house, Sansa’s spirits were noticeably lifted by the company and the alcohol. After taking lady for a walk they returned home content to relax the rest of the day away. Sansa was apparently feeling frisky – another byproduct of the booze. She teased Sandor in the kitchen with some naughty kisses before leaving him high and dry, turning to head upstairs with a mischievous smirk on her pretty pink lips. Like the eager dog he was, he followed, making her yelp and run when he smacked her ass. He chased her into her bedroom where their kisses became even more heated and clothing started to come off.

While Sandor pulled off his shoes and jeans she chewed her lip, “I’m sorry I was a bummer all morning. It’s just…”

“I know, you wanted to have a nice birthday with all of us.”

She shrugged, “Yeah, kind of… but actually…” she shook her head, “never mind.”

“What?”

She shrugged again, “I don’t want you to read into this or anything, but I was kind of hoping that for my birthday…”

“What?” he asked again when she trailed off.

Her cheeks flushed, “Well… I was hoping we’d have a repeat of… you know… the night I wore the maid outfit.”

“Oh,” Sandor felt his brow lift. He hadn’t been expecting her to say that but was surprisingly unbothered. It had been six months since that encounter, so he didn’t feel any need to worry that Sansa enjoyed being with both men at the same time better than being with just him.

He thought about how this night would have gone, and surprised himself by _not_ minding the idea of sharing Sansa with Jaime again. As it were, he had offered but wasn’t disappointed when Sansa declined his offer to take her somewhere very public. He knew they’d have to behave platonically, and that Sandor would have felt awkward the entire time. Instead it was 4 PM and they were about to enjoy a very pleasant, _private_ , experience.

Deciding he could do something that would make her birthday just a little more special, Sandor grinned.

…

It was 10 PM Europe time and Jaime was sitting at the hotel bar. His body was still on U.S. time and he wasn’t tired, even though he knew he had an early meeting the next morning. He looked down at his wedding ring and smiled, thinking about how he was in a similar bar at a similar hotel this time last year. He’d been picked up by a slightly younger man whose expensive suit and watch and heterosexual bearings assured Jaime that he, too, had a reputation to maintain. It meant it was a safe encounter – neither man would want word of their tryst getting out.

Now he stared at his wedding ring and didn’t feel in any way locked down. He smiled thinking about Nate and Sansa, feeling almost guilty about having everything he could want out of life. In a perfect world he wouldn’t have to hide one half of his love life, but he wasn’t going to complain considering how much he happier he was today.

His phone buzzed and he smiled to see Sansa’s photo on his screen. He’d called her at lunchtime to say ‘happy birthday’ but he was glad to talk to her again. He swiped to accept the video call and was surprised to see Sansa looking flushed, her head against a pillow.

“Hey hubby,” she breathed.

“Hey hon… you okay?”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded playfully, “More than okay. Wanna see why?”

Jaime’s brow furrowed, “Yeah…”

The phone angled away from her face until it revealed Sandor’s head between her legs.

Jaime put the phone face down against his thigh as his head swiveled around to make sure no one had been watching his call. He cautiously brought it back up, cupping his hands on either side of the screen and leaning close so he could speak low, “Are you insane?! I’m in a bar.”

She brought the phone back up to show her face, “Mmm…” she moaned, “Alone?”

Jaime snorted, “Yes _alone_.”

“Well get somewhere you’re even more alone. I don’t think I can keep my voice down much longer. Sandor’s tongue—”

Jaime slammed the phone into his lap again, muffling the rest of her words. He carefully turned the phone over and took it off speaker, throwing cash on the bar and heading to his room with speed that no doubt drew some people’s attention.

Only in the elevator did he bring the phone back up to look. Sansa had angled it again toward Sandor, still diligently at work between her legs.

“Say hi to Jaime,” she spoke in a voice made husky with pleasure. Fuck Jaime was already getting hard.

Sandor lifted his head enough for Jaime to see his wet lips curve into a cocky grin. “Hi to Jaime,” he rasped with a wink before returning to his task.

“Fuck, Sansa,” Jaime groaned, “what if I’d been with my dad?”

“Hmm… maybe I was hoping you would be,” she joked.

“Don’t ruin this… whatever this is,” Jaime cautioned.

“Are you in your room yet?”

“Almost. Fucking hell, that was the longest elevator ride of my life,” Jaime fumbled with his key card without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Oh Gods…” Sansa moaned. Jaime couldn’t disagree with the sentiment.

He dropped the phone on the bed, keeping his eyes glued to it even as he yanked off his own clothes.

“Let me see you, honey,” Sansa whispered.

Who am I to deny my wife on her birthday? He flexed his abs and turned the phone around. Not able to see how much of his body was in the frame he raised it to his chest then slowly lowered it until it was at his groin. He tugged lazily on his cock for her enjoyment then brought the phone back up so he could see what was going on back at home.

“Holy fuck!” Sansa crooned. She mirrored his action, turning the phone so he could see her kneading her left breast, then bringing it down across her quivering belly until Sandor was back in the shot. He’d lifted her hips and was holding her firmly in place while his head shook back and forth like a dog with a chew toy. In the background Jaime could hear Sansa panting and crying. He stroked himself more earnestly but still held back because he had a feeling this was just foreplay.

After Sansa screamed out her orgasm he was proven right. The camera was blocked as Sansa’s hand seemed to have gone limp against the bedspread. When he could see something again it was the sight of Sandor’s cock sinking in and out of her as she laid on her back, still recovering from her first climax.

“Oh God,” Jaime growled. Watching Sandor’s long, slick clock pumping in and out of her was like watching porn, only better. Because Jaime loved both these people, and they were both sexy as fuck. Sandor must have been holding the phone up near his chest because Jaime could see his abs tensing beneath the layer of dark hair that covered him.

Eventually he angled the phone so Jaime could see Sansa’s body. She was propped up on elbows, her breasts falling in perfect teardrops as she used her vantage point to watch Sandor fucking her.

“See this, Lannister? You know what this little minx wanted to do today? She wanted to fuck both of us.”

Jaime let out a pained groan, which made Sandor chuckle, “Say, Sansa? You wanted to be our little cum bucket?”

His raunchy words had their intended effect on Jaime – and Sansa, by the sound of it.

“Oh God, why couldn’t her birthday wish come true?!” Jaime lamented out loud.

“Faster, Sandor… oh God, please…”

His pace increased, making the video blurry as the phone was shaking, but Jaime saw enough and heard enough to be painfully aroused and decided it was time to increase his pace, as well.

“Fuck… Jaime… are you touching yourself?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

“Mmm… I want to watch Jaime.”

Sandor handed her the phone and Jaime turned his own around to show her his bulging cock in his hand. He was pleased when the sight seemed to trigger her orgasm as he heard a litany of sailor-level curse words as she ascended the mountain, then the breathless scream when she fell over the edge. The phone was back on the bedspread, but Jaime could still enjoy the sounds of wet skin slapping and Sandor’s grunts and curses as he, too, found his release.

Jaime was right on the brink when, a few seconds later, the phone was fixed in between Sansa’s legs, where Sandor’s seed was dribbling out of her.

“God damn,” Jaime panted into the phone.

“If you were here, Lannister, I’d make you lick her clean.”

“Fuuuuuccckkkkk!” Jaime groaned as his balls clenched and his cock throbbed one last time, pouring hot cum onto his abdomen. His arms went limp at his sides as he felt like he might melt into the bed.

After catching his breath he held the phone to show them his own spend. He chuckled hoarsely, “And if you guys were here, I’d make her lick this clean.”

…

Sansa laid boneless and breathless after giving Jaime a goodnight kiss through her phone’s camera. She was shocked that Sandor had been so open and so vulgar with Jaime on video call, but she certainly had no complaints.

“Thanks, babe,” she mumbled against his meaty shoulder.

“For what?”

She laughed, “What do you think?”

“Aye, well, it’s your birthday.”

“Did you… enjoy it?”

She heard the groan in his throat, “Aye, well enough.”

_That means ‘hell yes!’_

“Good… so, if you ever want to… I dunno… if there is something you would want to do with me. Or with me and Jaime… I hope you’ll let me know.”

“I will,” he said dismissively.

She leaned up to look at him, “I mean it. Come on, everyone has secret fantasies…”

“I know, but… it’s weird to talk about.”

“Mmm… so I’ve told you that I want to use a double-dildo with Gal Gadot… watch Michael Fassbender give you a blow job… and don’t even get me started on all the things I think of doing with you and Jaime… and you won’t tell me one teensy tiny thing you want to do?”

Sandor lifted his head up, “What kind of things with me and Jaime?”

Sansa felt her cheeks heat, “Ya, know… the usual threesome stuff.”

“Okay, well when I think about a threesome it’s two girls and a guy, so I don’t know what’s “usual” with two guys and a girl.”

Sansa shrugged, buying herself time while internally debating whether it was wise to confess such things to Sandor. In the end she decided there was nothing to lose, “Well, I know it probably won’t be comfortable _at all_ – but the idea of… taking you both at the same time… it has its appeal.”

Sandor’s eyes widened with cautious excitement, “Like… one in the front door and one in—”

“Yes!” Sansa squeezed her eyes shut in painful humiliation.

“Wow… what else?” Now he was sitting fully upright as if this conversation merited his full attention.

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Well now you _have_ to tell me.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Then we won’t do it… but now I need to know.”

Sansa sighed, “Fine. Let’s just say it involves Jaime being in the middle… instead of me.”

Sandor’s brow furrowed and she could see the moment understanding dawned because his tan cheeks darkened by two shades.

“Oh,” he laid back down, one arm bent beneath his head.

“So what about your fantasies?”

Sandor shrugged, “Well, now I’m embarrassed that they’re nowhere near as dirty as yours.”

Sansa giggled, “Come on… it was embarrassing to tell you that! You need to tell me now. At least one of them.”

“Fine,” Sandor exhaled loudly, “I’d kind of like to… handcuffyoutothebed.”

Now it was Sansa’s turn to be surprised, “Oh.”

“Yeah… but I get that that might be scary for you or…”

“No; I trust you.”

“No, we don’t need to. Sansa I’m more than happy with our sex life.”

“So am I… but it couldn’t hurt to try… I know if I didn’t like it you’d stop right away.”

Sandor turned to face her, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “I always like when you’re… ya know… in charge. In the bedroom at least. It might be kinda fun… laying there all helpless while you do whatever you want.”

“God, woman,” he mumbled before kissing her soundly. “Every time I think I can’t love you any more, I’m proven wrong.”

Sansa chuckled, “You know… Jaime doesn’t come back until late Saturday afternoon…”

…

Jaime dragged his ass out of the town car Saturday afternoon, slightly relieved that Sandor’s SUV wasn’t parked out front. He knew he owed Sansa a night out for her birthday, but was hoping she wouldn’t be disappointed if all he wanted to do was sleep for the rest of the weekend.

He dropped his briefcase and travel bag in the foyer and toed off his shoes.

“Sandor!?” he heard Sansa call from her bedroom.

“No, it’s me,” Jaime called up the stairs.

“Oh… uh, hi… there’s leftover pulled pork in the fridge!” her voice sounded odd, enough so that Jaime went to investigate.

“Don’t come in here!” she called out desperately as Jaime approached her open bedroom door.

He paused, confused, “What? Why?”

“Umm… I’m not decent!”

Jaime snorted as he stepped into the doorframe, “Nothing I haven’t--- what the hell?”

Sansa’s face was beet red but that wasn’t the most surprising part of the sight he was met by. She was covered by a blanket, naked underneath if her shoulders were any indication, but her arms were raised above her head, handcuffed to a wrung of the metal headboard.

“It’s not what it looks like!”

“Umm… it looks like Sandor handcuffed you to the bed and then left you there. Were you a naughty girl?”

Jaime was lucky that looks couldn’t kill.

“It’s a long story,” she eventually huffed.

“Ooo-kay… wanna tell me where the key for those is?”

She sighed loudly, “That’s part of the long story.”

 _“I’m back!”_ Sandor’s deep voice bellowed from the foyer, quickly followed by his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. When he saw Jaime in the bedroom he stopped in his tracks like a deer in headlights.

“Oh. Um, hey, Lannister.”

“Hey yourself,” Jaime’s eyes drifted down to the tool clutched in one of Sandor’s hands. A pair of bolt cutters, if Jaime had to guess. He looked back to Sansa’s hands and started laughing uncontrollably.

“It’s not funny!” Sansa scolded.

“Beg to differ! It almost seems as if you two are hell bent on finding kinky ways to surprise me whenever I come back from Europe.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, shooing Jaime off Sansa’s bed so he could snip the chain then work on the harder part – cutting through the actual cuffs. Luckily it seemed they weren’t too tight.

Jaime watched and listened in silent amusement as Sandor recounted the tale that started off as a kinky sexcapade then turned into a nightmare of Sansa’s screaming bloody murder when he couldn’t find the keys.

“Best I could figure…” Sandor paused to put all his strength into the last cut, “I remember tossing the keys on our pile of clothes. Well, you know how Lady sometimes eats our socks and Sansa’s panties? Sansa’s thong was conspicuously missing, along with the keys. We think she accidentally swallowed them while we were… distracted.”

Jaime laughed, earning himself another glare from Sansa.

“It wasn’t funny! I felt like I was in that Stephen King book!”

“Which one?”

Sansa closed her eyes, “The one where the woman is handcuffed to a bed and then her husband dies of a sex-induced heart attack, leaving her alone and _handcuffed to a bed_.”

“Ew, that is scary. What’s it called?”

“I don’t fucking remember, Jaime!” Sansa rubbed her wrists.

Sandor looked downright contrite, “Well look, next time we’ll put the keys in the nightstand drawer.”

“Next time? _Next time?!”_ Sansa shrieked, “Next time, you’ll be the one handcuffed to the bed and I’ll leave you there while I go get a manicure.”

“I didn’t go for a manicure I went to get the bloody bolt cutters!”

“Well, little difference! That was the scariest hour of my life.”

Sandor groaned, “It was less than forty minutes.”

“Well it felt like an eternity. I kept thinking someone was going to come in the house and find me like that. Cersei… Bronn… the cable guy!”

“Look, I’m sorry! The dog shouldn’t be eating stuff, anyway.”

Sansa pursed her lips and shook her head, “She’s still a puppy… she eats stuff, okay?”

Jaime was trying his darndest to sympathize with either of them – Sansa panicking, alone and helpless for forty minutes. Sandor panicking as he drove to the hardware store knowing he was going to come back to a pissed off girlfriend. But all he could think about was what got them in that situation to begin with.

“Soo…” he started casually, “Handcuffed to the bed, huh? Is this a new thing?”

Sansa groaned, “Our first and last time.”

“Hey, you _liked_ it!” Sandor defended.


	54. Donuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little irreverence, and then some seriousness.

“I’m not saying I believe it, it’s just fun to think about,” Sandor shrugged.

“Sooo… the earth _isn’t_ round?” Nate asked with a scrunched-up face.

“It’s round, it’s just not a _sphere_. It’s an inverted sphere. It’s like a… donut. We’re on the inside curve of the donut. So space is actually the inside… I think… maybe.”

“The earth is a donut?” Sansa asked.

Sandor shrugged, “Some people think the whole _universe_ is a donut.”

Jaime added his two cents: “I could go for a donut.”

“Mmm… me too. Jelly donut… with sugar coating, not powder. Yick, I hate powder donuts,” Sansa stuck out her tongue.

Nate shrugged, “I like powder donuts.”

“Good, then when we get a box of Munchkins you can eat the powdered ones. I’ll eat the glazed and the chocolate and the jelly.”

“I want the chocolate!” Jaime pouted.

“Can I have the glazed?” Sandor asked sheepishly.

Sansa huffed, “ _Fine,_ as long as I don’t have to eat the powdered ones!”

Nate chuckled, “Guys… I feel like this is how personality tests are invented. Like _‘what kind of donut are you?_ ’”

“Mmm… well if you were a donut, baby, you’d be chocolate,” Jaime winked for effect.

Sandor snorted, “And Sansa would be powder.”

“Hey! I’m not _that_ white.”

“Yes you are,” three male voices muttered in perfect unison.

Sansa harumphed but her protest gave way to a smirk, “Sandor would be jelly. Looks one way on the outside, but on the inside there’s a very nice surprise.”

Jaime frowned thoughtfully, “Was that sexual?”

“No, I meant his personality… but yeah, it did sound sexual, didn’t it?” Sansa cracked herself up. Which made Jaime crack up, which made Nate crack up. Even gooey-on-the-inside Sandor cracked up.

When they finally stopped laughing, now rubbing their respective cheeks, Nate tried to get the conversation back on track, “So wait… wait… wait… what were we talking about?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “How the earth is shaped like a donut and there are people who have all the science and physics figured out and shit.”

Jaime’s jaw dropped, “How the fuck did you remember that?”

She shrugged, “It kinda makes sense. Cause if the earth is a giant ball, and it’s spinning really fast, wouldn’t we all be, like, flung off of it?”

Nate laughed, “You’re forgetting about gravity, kitten.”

“Yeah, but what the fuck _is_ gravity, anyway?”

“E equals MC squared?” Jaime guessed.

Sandor shook his head, “That’s the theory of relativity.”

Jaime scowled, “Dude. Shut up.”

“Well what kind of made-up shit is _gravity_ , anyway?” Sansa crossed her arms, “I’m going with this donut thing. I like it. I’m going to start the Donut Earth Society. Those flat-earthers can suck it. And the round-earthers can suck it, too.”

“Ooh, ooh!” Nate squealed, “Your logo can be a round earth with one of those thingies going through it.”

“What thingies?” Sansa asked.

Nate waved his hand in an indiscernible shape, “The round thing with the line. Oh what the fuck is that thing called?!”

“I don’t think it has a name,” Jaime offered unhelpfully.

“It’s called the ‘prohibition sign’,” Sandor stated matter-of-factly.

Jaime stared at him incredulously, “Dude – how the _fuck_ do you know that?”

Sandor shrugged, “I just know shit, man.”

Sansa started giggling, “You guys are so funny. I love you guys _soooo_ much!”

“Here we go…” Sandor groaned, sitting up in the patio lounger, ready to go inside once Sansa got too sappy.

“Hey! I mean it! It isn’t the pot talking. I love you guys so much that I… I… I would get your names tattooed on my body!”

Nate gasped, “Kitten, I will give you my entire life’s savings to tattoo our names on your ass!”

“Hell no!” Sandor shouted, “I’m not looking at your and Jaime’s names every time I fuck her doggy style.”

Sansa laughed, “It doesn’t have to be my ass. I would tattoo your names on my forehead… wait, no. My neck! Eh… no. My wrist?... Ah, fuck, maybe it does have to be my ass.”

Jaime laughed, “What if Nate designs a symbol that represents us instead of using our actual names?”

“Huh!” Sansa sat up, “Hubby you’re a genius!”

An hour later, high-as-a-kite Nate had drawn a pretty damn lifelike rendering of four donuts interlocked like the Olympic rings. One chocolate (Nate), one coconut (Jaime), one strawberry frosted (Sansa), one glazed (Sandor). Only apparently it _had_ been the pot talking because Sansa only blinked when Nate suggested he could take her to a tattoo parlor the next day.

“Donut eating contest,” Jaime spat out before thinking.

“No,” Sansa crossed her arms, “I’ve learned my lesson. Sandor can eat more than me. Period.”

“Fine, then pick your opponent,” Jaime moved to stand next to Nate. Both of them straightened their backs and crossed their arms in challenge. Jaime was secretly hoping she’d pick Nate; he didn’t want to even _think_ about the hours on the treadmill that would be needed to burn off so many donuts.

Sansa eyed them appraisingly, chewing her lip before talking through her logic, “Well Jaime can generally eat more than Nate, but Nate has more of a sweet tooth. And Nate has a competitive streak. Do I go with pure anatomy or some of those intangibles?”

Sandor weighed in, “Look, they’re probably not that far off in terms of how much they can eat, so you gotta factor in those other things. Nate’s definitely got more competitive drive.”

Sansa nodded, “Yeah, and he’s more of a bitch, too. Worst case, I can probably guilt Jaime into letting me win… he’s kind of a push over.”

“Hey!” Jaime shouted while Nate laughed beside him.

“But now you just wounded his pride,” Sandor clicked his tongue, “you’ve made it personal… that’s not good.”

“So wait – if I win, does my opponent have to get the tattoo?”

Sandor smirked impishly, “Well, that’s usually how it works.”

Jaime felt his eyes go wide, “Wait, what? I don’t agree to this. Call me a coward.”

“Fine, then I’ll do it. You and me, kitten,” Nate held out his hand for a shake.

“Fuck… why do I always get myself in these situations?”

Sandor shrugged, “Because you don’t think before you talk?”

“Hey, fuck you!”

“See?”

“Are we doing this or not, kitten?” Nate tapped his foot in a very gay and impatient manner.

“Oh fuck it! Fine! But the tattoo has to be no more than two inches in length. Bikinis are getting smaller every year.”

“Deal!” They shook hands and agreed on another high-noon showdown.

Only at some point before the competition began, Jaime and Sandor collectively realized that a donut tattoo on a hiney made a rather nice _bullseye_. So Jaime cheered on Sansa while Sandor cheered on Nate. Their respective betrayals seemed to only serve as motivation as Sansa and Nate looked like they might give up on eating donuts and instead team up on murdering their lovers.

But in the end, it was Nate that was half a donut shy of victory and Sansa who personally supervised the confused looking tattoo artist a couple days later. Only after Nate stood up with his completed ink did the _“I love you guys”_ Sansa reemerge. Probably without thought, she dropped trou and asked for the same tattoo on the same cheek. Nate and Jaime watched on in awe while Sandor looked to be waiting for the tattoo artist to let his hands wander so he could kill someone.

Because Jaime’s impulse control wasn’t much better, he found himself laying ass-out on the table an hour later. Sandor eventually succumbed, likely not wanting to be branded the coward or killjoy of their foursome.

The now _really_ confused tattoo artist obliged them by using Sansa’s phone to capture a photo of four butts lined up, with identical tattoos, still red from the needles.

…

Things with SAIME were going swimmingly and Sansa couldn’t help but feel proud of her contributions to that. In addition to the founding donors, she easily convinced Olenna Tyrell to make a very generous donation (by letting slip the amount of Tywin Lannister’s donation – Olenna beat it by a cool thou.) She also had been making inroads with other donors – both private and organizations. Stark Enterprises made a donation, as did some local companies who were known to support good causes.

Sansa set her sights on expansion and knew that at some point she’d have to get on a plane and woo some people in person – a notion that both thrilled and terrified her.

Myrcella had been working for them for just over a week – having started immediately after graduation in May. She was essentially an assistant, but her contributions were vital. She initially helped keep Brienne and Sansa organized. It only took her a couple days to get the hang of what they did, and her next task was to start on social media and digital outreach. Sansa quickly realized the latter could be a full-time job and made a note to talk to Brienne about hiring a personal assistant that could serve both women and potentially help out Myrcella when their schedule permitted.

Brienne expected they would have five full-timers and two interns or part-timers by September and Sansa couldn’t believe how fast they were growing.

As a nice bonus, Jaime often stopped by on his lunch break. They’d eat together while Sansa caught him up on SAIME and he’d weigh in on any decisions that she or Brienne needed his input for.

Because their lives weren’t busy enough, Sansa had convinced Jaime they should throw a big Fourth of July bash at their house and invite virtually everyone they knew. While she’d prefer a quiet holiday with her fellow donuts, she thought it would be a good opportunity to rub elbows with potential donors. Of course, Sansa wouldn’t make her guests feel like they were a captive audience to her ‘sales pitch’, but it would be good for her to get to meet Jaime’s many connections.

They discussed the idea over a Sunday night dinner at their house. Tywin and Cersei had come by, as was becoming a more frequent occurrence. Sansa didn’t mind. Cersei was much more laid back (a development Sansa tried not to attribute to any part of Bronn’s anatomy), and it was good to see Jaime on better terms with his father than they’d ever been before, apparently. New Tywin, as Sansa called him (not to his face) was capable of enjoying life. He was by no means a carefree man, but he cracked a smile on average _twice_ per visit. It was pretty incredible.

It was annoying but ultimately helpful that Cersei took over the role of party-planner, saying she’d send out invites to all the Lannisters’ family, friends, and certain business partners. Sansa only had to send invites to her own family and friends, along with the Martells and Olenna. The fourth fell on a Sunday that year so they’d have the party on the actual holiday. When Sansa questioned whether they should instead have it on Saturday the 3rd so people wouldn’t need to work the next day, Cersei snorted, “We’re all rich, no one _needs_ to work on a Monday.”

Sansa had naively been imagining hamburgers on the grill but when she realized their guest list could easily exceed 100 people, she knew it would need to be a catered affair. Sansa also decided to hire two bartenders for the day. They’d rent a bounce house and buy tons of water guns so any kids would be occupied. They’d also need to rent tables and chairs, and canopies in case of rain.

With just over a month to get everything arranged Sansa was worried it was too much to handle and that people would already have other plans, to boot. Once again, Cersei snorted as if Sansa was a simpleton, “You’re Jaime and Sansa Lannister. If they have other plans, they’ll ditch them, believe me.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re the _it_ couple.”

“Huh? We’re not Jay-Z and Beyonce.”

Cersei rolled her eyes, “I don’t mean the celebrity _it_ couple. You’re the business world _it_ couple.”

Now Sansa felt like a genuine simpleton. Wouldn’t she know if she was one-half of an “it couple”? Wouldn’t paparazzi follow her around? Wouldn’t people come up to them on the street and ask for a selfie or autograph? Sure, a snippet of their honeymoon was on TMZ, but Sansa now wondered if her father-in-law hadn’t been behind that.

When she voiced these questions (except the last one) the three Lannisters laughed at her, much to her chagrin.

“Sansa,” Tywin spoke in his triple-distilled voice, “No one bothers a Lannister because we don’t sue those who wrong us, we _ruin_ them before they even see it coming...”

_And I’m supposed to be okay with that?_

“…and Cersei is right. You’re the couple everyone wants to be. Beautiful, wealthy, influential in the business world, and now on your way to sainthood with your foundation.”

“Um… I don’t think I’d go that far.”

Cersei giggled, “Trust me, darling, it’s true. Everyone has just been _dying_ to see you two up close, in your element. _No one_ is going to want to miss this.”

Sansa started to sweat, “Then maybe we shouldn’t invite so many people… this seems like a lot of work.”

Cersei waved a hand dismissively, “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll handle everything. I’ll rope in Sandor and his little friend when I need help. Tommen is also home for the summer.”

Sansa wanted to laugh at Cersei’s unwillingness to mention Bronn by name, but she was too busy inwardly panicking over visions of drunken partygoers falling into her pool, breaking her knick-knacks, or clogging her toilet. Not to mention the somehow even more frightening idea that they might run out of food or booze and disappoint their guests.

But this had been Sansa’s idea, and Cersei was volunteering to do all the heavy lifting, planning-wise (Sandor, Bronn, and Tommen would do all the literal heavy lifting).

So Sansa straightened her back, took a deep breath, and nodded, “Just don’t invite Preston Greenfield please. I don’t think I could face him again.”

Tywin snorted, “The man is done in this town.”

“What?”

“Casterly cancelled the contract with his firm and word got around. No one will work with him.”

“What?! But it’s a man’s livelihood… What about his wife? I…” Sansa turned to Jaime, “Did you know about this?”

Jaime had the decency to look ashamed, “Jen filed for divorce shortly after the Halloween party. Don’t worry about her. She got her half, which was substantial. As for Preston, he’s not going to be destitute.”

“But… but… he was drunk. He was…”

“A chronic womanizer and adulterer,” Tywin finished, “and an overall unlikeable human being. He’d pissed off enough people over the years, his days were numbered anyway. The contractor who’s taken his firm’s place is much more deserving of our business, if that makes you feel any better.”

Sansa could only gape at the lions she was surrounded by. Every rude thing she’d said to Tywin during and after the Thanksgiving Day argument came flooding back. Sure, she was justified at the time, but it was only now that she realized how much she’d been playing with fire.

Deciding Preston Greenfield wasn’t worth her pity, Sansa allowed herself to relax. She even let out a chuckle as she said, “Remind me to never piss you off… again.”

Cersei and Jaime laughed, dispelling the rest of the tension Sansa had been feeling. Tywin only looked at her with something akin to pride in his eyes, “You’re one of us now, remember? And I happen to know your claws are just as sharp as mine.” He raised an eyebrow, daring her to deny it.

She didn’t.

…

Dad and Cersei were out the door by 7 – Jaime knew well that his dad was an early bird, not a night owl.

At 8:00 he was surprised when the doorbell rang and Tommen was on the other side, looking sheepish.

“Hey, Tom. Everything okay?” Jaime stepped aside and let his nephew in.

“Actually… well, yes, Uncle Jaime. Everything is good. But I was hoping to talk to you if you’re not busy.”

“Never too busy to talk to my favorite nephew,” Jaime smiled.

Tommen rolled his eyes, “If only the competition was greater, that might actually be a compliment.”

Jaime laughed and led him into the sitting room. Sansa and Sandor had taken Lady out on a walk and they usually went for a good hour if weather was decent.

“Can I get you anything?” Jaime offered.

“No, um… Is Sansa home?” Tommen tugged nervously at the hem of his t-shirt.

“No… Tom, what’s wrong?”

Tommen took a deep breath, “I wanted to start with you. Well, Myrcella knows. Mom doesn’t, though I think she suspects… Dad and Grandpa and Joff definitely don’t know…”

Jaime stilled. He could tell where the conversation was going and knew just how hard it was to say the words Tommen was trying to utter.

“I… um… I…”

Jaime smiled, “You’re gay.” He said it as softly and nonjudgmentally as possible.

Tommen’s eyes widened, “You knew?”

Jaime smiled again, “No, not until now. You hide it well. I’m only sorry that you feel the need to hide it in the first place.” Jaime recognized his own hypocrisy, but it didn’t make his words any less genuine.

Tommen breathed out a loud sigh of relief, “It’s Dad, mainly. And Joff. I think Grandpa would even accept it, not that he’d be thrilled.”

Jaime didn’t know what to say to that. Yes, Tywin would accept it, mainly because it wasn’t his style to outwardly criticize his own family (except Tyrion). But Robert and Joffrey?

“So are you planning on telling them?”

Tom shook his head, “I don’t know. Dad has always… well you know how he talks about you, or the way he used to, before you got married. Same with Joff. I just don’t know if all the gay bashing is a joke to them, or if they actually hate gay people. Dad is…” Tommen groaned, “I know he isn’t perfect, but—”

“But he’s still your dad,” Jaime smiled sadly, “You still want his approval.”

Tommen nodded meekly, “Any suggestions?”

Jaime nodded, “Tell your mom, when you’re ready. She can keep a secret, and she’ll be very supportive I’m sure. Grandpa? That one’s up to you. As for Robert and Joffrey you need to decide how much their approval really means to you… Look, your Dad… as you said, he isn’t perfect. But he loves you. And he won’t stop loving you over this, even if it’s hard to accept initially. Joff? Well, does it really matter what he thinks? But it’s your decision to make. I support you either way, and I know Myrcella and your mom will, too.”

Tommen looked up at Jaime, eyes shimmering with tears of relief, “Thank you, Uncle Jaime.”

Jaime smiled back though felt like a fraud. What Tommen needed was true empathy, which Jaime could offer. What he needed was for Jaime to say that if he could do everything over he would have lived his truth decades ago – not because he wasn’t happy with his present life, but because it wasn’t right that people should have to hide themselves and live a lie. He should tell Tommen that he understood the attraction to men, even if he didn’t identify as a cut-and-dry “gay”. He should tell him that he was a sexually fluid man, closer to the gay end of the spectrum, who still managed to have a loving wife and a loving partner, even though he lived his life in the closet, so there was plenty of hope for Tommen to find his happiness.

At Jaime’s continued silence Tommen looked anxious.

“Sorry – it’s not you.” Jaime lied, “I was thinking about that charity we sponsor – the Family Equality Council? If you’d ever want an internship there, I could put in a good word… it would be a good place to meet friends, people who… you know.”

Tommen smiled, “Really? That would be awesome. I was actually thinking of asking Sansa if I could work for you guys, though. But I know you’re still growing and…”

Jaime chuckled, “Talk to Sansa. SAIME is growing like a weed. I’m sure she could find something for you to do. Maybe next semester we can host a fundraiser at your college. I dunno, something…”

Tommen nodded vigorously, “Sounds awesome. They also have career fairs on campus. You know – if you ever need to staff up quickly.”

“Good idea,” Jaime nodded, “by the way… uh, is this something I shouldn’t tell Sansa?”

Tommen shrugged, “Actually if Sansa was home, I was going to tell both of you. She’s really cool, Uncle Jaime.”

Jaime wrapped an arm around Tommen’s shoulders, “You have no idea, kid.”

Tommen nodded, “Well, thanks again, Uncle Jaime. I think I’m going to head home now, talk to Mom. Might as well pull all the Band-Aids off at once.”

“Makes sense, Tom. And if you ever need to talk…”

Tommen stopped at the door to turn and smile, “I know. Good night.”

“Good night. Drive safe.”

The moment the door clicked shut Jaime’s smile dropped off. He poured himself a scotch, went to sit by the lake, and cried.

…

Sandor and Sansa were surprised to find Jaime out by the lake after they tag-teamed cleaning up the kitchen. They had been in good spirits until they came upon Jaime’s hunched over and wounded looking form.

“Everything okay?” Sansa asked as she took a seat next to Jaime.

Sandor turned to go back inside, wanting to give them privacy, but Jaime stopped him, “Tommen came by while you guys were out.”

“Oh… did something happen? With Joffrey?” Sansa’s fear was evident.

Jaime shook his head, “He came by to tell me – well to tell _us,_ actually – that he’s gay.”

Sansa sucked in a gasp. “Oh,” was all she said.

“Yeah. Only Cella knows, so far. But he’ll probably tell Cersei soon.”

“Right,” Sansa nodded, “He’s worried about telling his dad, though.”

“That would be an understatement. You know how Robert is.”

“So what did you tell him?”

Jaime sighed, “That I think Robert would accept it, eventually. Same for my dad. And that Joff’s opinion shouldn’t matter.”

“Good advice… so… did you tell him anything else?”

Jaime snorted, “Like how I can relate? No.”

Sansa took Jaime’s hand. Sandor finally sat down on her other side. “Look, Lannister, it’s okay to keep it to yourself. Everyone has their right to privacy.”

“Yeah? So why do I feel like a coward and a failure?”

“Because you care about Tommen and you want to be able to offer him the truth, especially now that he’s come out to you,” Sansa answered the rhetorical question.

“I almost told him. _Almost._ More than that, I almost want to tell everyone – family, I mean – so that he doesn’t have to suffer their judgment alone.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

Jaime snorted again, “Do you really need to ask?”

“I mean it, Jaime. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“That my dad could decide to disown another son. That Robert, or more likely Joffrey, will tell the entire world.”

“Well Joffrey and Robert don’t need to know. We never see either of them, anymore. If you were to tell Tomen, Cersei, your dad, and Myrcella, even if you told Kevan and Dorna, I don’t think it would go further than them.”

“You don’t get it,” Jaime ran his hands down his thighs in frustration, “My dad… things have been good with him since his heart attack.”

“And you think this would change that? Perhaps your dad would be more receptive now than he would have been in the past.”

“So I tell them all and then what? It’s not like I’m going to start bringing Nate around my dad. Even if he were to accept learning about it, he won’t accept _seeing_ it. So what’s the point?”

“Alright, so start with Cersei,” Sandor offered, “she’s around more anyway. She’s with Bronn. Wouldn’t you like to be able to be yourself around both of them? Have Nate over when they’re here? Right now you have to hide the poor man away.”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “Let’s think this through – if I tell Cersei about my… proclivities… if I tell her about Nate, that’s admitting that Sansa and I have an open marriage. Cersei isn’t dumb; she’ll realize that’s a two-way street.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed, “You’re worried about her finding out about me and Sandor?”

“Aren’t you?”

Sansa seemed to think about it, then she shook her head, “No, not really. Unless Sandor would mind.”

They turned their pretty eyes to him in perfect unison. He swallowed hard. _Would I mind?_

He thought it through. Bronn knowing hadn’t proved to be an issue, but Bronn was Bronn. The man was a firm believer in living life without regret or shame. Cersei… admittedly she was much cooler than she used to be, but she still had a rather judgmental default setting. But would she judge him or Sansa? Or Jaime? Or all of them? Or none of them?

“You think she’d care?” he finally asked.

Now Jaime was the one looking contemplative, “She’d probably caution us about being careful to not let it slip in a way that could become public, but I don’t think she’d _personally_ care, no.”

“What about Tommen?” Sansa asked.

Jaime shrugged, “He’s the main one I’m thinking of. I want him to be able to talk to me. I want him to know he’s not alone.”

Sansa nodded, “If your gut is telling you to tell Tommen, then I think you should.”

“And Myr? And Cersei?”

“You don’t have to decide now, but I think it would be safe to tell them. It doesn’t change who you are, Jaime. It doesn’t change our marriage, either. They will know we love each other; they’ll just also know we each love someone else, too.”

“Yeah, Lannister. And what about all that talk when Sansa and I were in Costa Rica? That you want to live like a 21st century Brady Bunch. You, me, Sansa, and Nate all under one roof. Kids, even. You still want that?”

Jaime seemed to think before nodding sheepishly, “I do.”

“Well, no offense man, but you’re not getting any younger. If that’s really what you want someday, then telling your family is a good first step toward making that a reality.”

Sansa nodded, “Maybe you can start with a phone call to Tyrion. You know, for practice. He already knows about your sexuality, so all you’d have to tell him is about Nate and Sandor.”

“Yeah,” Sandor agreed, “You could tell Bronn next, if you want. He already knows about Sansa and I, so you’ve got a head start there.”

“Then we can tell Tommen together. And Cella and Cersei, if you want. We can invite them over for dinner. I’ll be with you, Jaime, if you want. I’ll be right by your side through all of it. Or if you’d prefer to tell them on your own—”

“No,” Jaime grabbed her hand and held it against his chest, “This is about us as much as it’s about me. Your being there will show them that you’re okay with all of this.”

Sansa laughed, “ _Okay_ with it? I’m more than okay with it. I’m ready to publish a book on the secrets of female happiness – two husbands, one gay and one straight!”

Jaime smiled, “And both smokin’ hot, right?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Well duh!”


	55. Independence Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: in prepping to post this chapter I read the preceding several chapters and realized I missed an entire scene!! I don't know how it happened but anyway I encourage you to go back to Chapter 51 and read the last ~1/3 of the chapter (after the 2nd set of "...")

The Lannister July 4th bash was apparently _the_ event of the summer season in the tri-state area. There were so many people it was overwhelming. Growing up, Sansa had been at a number of large parties, but her role was always guest or helper. Now she was the hostess, and while Cersei was running everything like a pit boss (Sansa was surprised she didn’t wear an earpiece to communicate with the staff), Sansa couldn’t exactly sit back and relax.

As Jaime explained, their guests included “everyone who is anyone” in the New York metropolitan area business world.

Oberyn and Ellaria flew in for the event. Olenna Tyrella showed up with the brood of adult grandchildren who she was grooming to take over her company, since apparently it took four people to replace her. Tommen and Myrcella showed up together along with Tommen’s friend Michael, who apparently hadn’t been scared away from Tommen’s family functions after Thanksgiving. Tywin, Kevan, Dorna, and Jaime’s eccentric aunt Genna were also in attendance along with some of their kids. Several people from Casterly showed up, along with about two dozen men or women that Casterly had dealings with, in some form or another, and many brought their spouses and kids (and some nannies).

The pool had never seen so much action, and the bounce house and water guns were a hit, as was Bronn who took kids (and some adults) out water skiing on the lake. He seemed to have roped Sandor and Nate into helping – making sure the kids were wearing life vests and properly positioned for take-off.

Myranda and her husband were there along with Mya who brought one of her cousins. Mya had moved back to the east coast to take a position at Mass General once her grad program was over. Sansa loved having her best friend there, because Mya wasn’t afraid to roll up her sleeves and help out, but it was a struggle not to feel jealous when she checked out Sandor, and even worse when she brought a cold beer to him where he was stationed on the shore of the lake. It was 90 degrees and humid, and like lots of the men Sandor was wearing nothing but board shorts. Like most of the women, Mya was wearing a bikini and a perfectly useless “cover up”.

 _Stop being a horrible friend, Sansa –_ she chided herself about two hundred times that day.

Sansa’s parents also accepted the invitation and brought along Bran and Rickon. Robb had a legitimate excuse for declining – the woman he knocked up and married within three months of meeting her (yet _that_ was totally okay) was now seven months pregnant and thus in no mood to travel by car in the summer heat to an _outdoor_ party. But Arya’s absence was an obvious statement that she still hadn’t forgiven Sansa. It bothered Sansa but she and Arya had never been close. Sansa was just happy to get to hang out with her parents and brothers and for them to see her in her element. To see how much she and Jaime complemented each other and got along. She saw the surprised looks on her parents’ and brothers’ faces when she and Jaime joked around or indulged in a bit of PDA (the man was built for summer, and his golden skin and sun-tinted hair was irresistible). She also saw her parents definitely approved of the fact that Jaime was never possessive of Sansa. Like when Bronn took a break from boat duty to get a drink and inserted himself into Sansa and Jaime’s conversation with her parents to ask if she was going to “introduce them to her future husband”. Or when Jaime’s childhood friend Addam, who came up from D.C. for the party, asked her what she was doing with a blond when everyone knew redheads were more fun (he had auburn hair, almost the same shade as Robb’s).

There were a few other “northerners” in attendance – family friends of the Starks that Sansa was particularly close with. Rod Cassel and his son Jory, who was a few years older than Sansa, and Jon Umber and his son Jon Jr. Sansa had a crush on Jon Jr. when she was a teenager and her first instinct upon seeing Mya hand Sandor a beer was to flirt with him.

_Down, crazy bitch version of Sansa, down._

The most shocking guest, however, was Tyrion Lannister. Apparently, Jaime gave his father an ultimatum: _come to the party or not, but either way, Tyrion will be there._ Strangely, Tywin had been more amenable than Jaime expected.

It was an odd thing to be grateful for, but Sansa couldn’t help but think that the heart attack was the best thing that ever happened for Tywin and his family. Her own dad almost fell over when he saw Tywin put a hand on Sansa’s shoulder and whisper in her ear. It had actually been a rather mean joke about one of the guests Sansa didn’t know, but all Ned saw was Tywin making his daughter snort from laughing so hard. The man had a wicked sense of humor on the rare occasion he chose to use it, and Sansa once again reminded herself to never be on his bad side again. He was the king of clever barbs and, despite acting tough, Sansa was fairly thin-skinned.

Tommen was clearly happy with his “friend” Michael. Jaime, Sansa, Cersei, Myrcella, Tywin, and Tyrion knew Michael was actually his boyfriend. Indeed, Tywin hadn’t initially reacted well to the news, but Cersei, Cella, and Sansa schooled him on sexuality in the 21st century and _New Tywin_ knew better than to argue with three women.

As far as Jaime and Sansa’s situation? So far only Tommen and Tyrion knew, and that was fine. Jaime had lived 43 years one way… Sansa knew it would take time for him. Jaime had considered telling Cersei, but wanted to at least get past the party, lest she react unfavorably.

Despite being busy all day, Sansa enjoyed herself. There was enough hired help (not to mention Cersei) that Sansa could take time here and there to have a drink and socialize.

She blushed when Ellaria kissed her cheeks and complimented her on her home and party-throwing abilities. Sansa knew an opportunity when she saw one and led Oberyn and Ellaria to the shoreline just as Bronn was returning with a giggling girl who’d clearly had a blast on the water skis.

While waiting for Bronn to park the boat Sansa introduce the Martells to Nate and Sandor, introducing them both as very good friends of her and Jaime. Sansa explained that Sandor was their friend slash driver slash bodyguard slash chef slash everything. Ellaria remembered Sansa mentioning Sandor when they were in Sunspear and grinned seductively while she shook his hand, “He’s even more impressive than I imagined.” Sandor blushed but if Sansa knew him, he was imagining her and Ellaria making out… and stuff.

Bronn disembarked and like the clown he was he dropped to his knees in front of Oberyn. Oberyn blinked at him in confusion until Sansa giggled, “Bronn is our good friend. Remember – the one you autographed the book for?”

Oberyn laughed and squatted down, “My friend, you’ve served our country, you mentor troubled youths, and you’re a self-made man… You should bow to no one.”

Bronn was uncharacteristically tongue-tied as he tried to ramble off all the amazing things Oberyn had accomplished – as if the man didn’t know. Nate, Sandor, and Sansa laughed at him unabashedly, but he was oblivious to anything but Oberyn and his god-like halo, apparently.

TJ made his way over, “Bronn, why are you acting so weird?”

“TJ – this is the guy that wrote that book.”

“The guy that’s even richer than Jaime?”

Bronn blushed, “Kid, what did I teach you about honesty?”

TJ rolled his eyes, “That it’s not _always_ the best policy.”

“Good lad, now act like you’ve got some manners and shake Mr. Martell’s hand.” TJ complied. “Now his lovely girlfriend Ellaria.”

TJ again complied before turning back to Bronn, “I’m going back to the tag game, but can you stop bowing to people? It’s embarrassing.”

“Hey! I only bowed to Oberyn and Cersei, ya little shit.”

TJ ran off and Bronn turned back to the others, shrugging, “It was the first time I saw her in a bikini.”

Sandor groaned, “Come on, stop proving to everyone just how little sanity you possess… we’ve got impatient kids waiting.”

With a chuckle Oberyn and Ellaria excused themselves to go socialize, though by the look of it, Oberyn wanted to go prod Tywin. Sansa looped her arm through Nate’s, deciding not to give a fuck. She led him to Myranda who’d been dying to meet the artist who drew the painting of the pier where they got married.

As her next stop, Sansa checked in with Cersei who was taking a well-deserved break to enjoy a gin and soda. Cersei rolled her eyes as Sansa approached, “That man enjoys making a fool of himself.”

“Don’t worry, TJ already scolded him.”

“Well thank God they have adult supervision over there.”

Sansa laughed and let her eyes drift around the yard and festivities. Her mom and dad were talking with one of Jaime’s business acquaintances and seemingly enjoying the conversation. Nate and Myranda were happily chatting each other’s ears off. Bronn and Sandor seemed to be enjoying boat duty. Jaime was schmoozing with Olenna and her grandkids. Bran and Rick were hanging out with Myrcella, Tommen, and Michael. Bran may or may not have been hitting on Myrcella as best he could with their respective little brothers present.

Mya seemed to have given up on Sandor for the moment and was chatting with Jon Jr. and Jory. Kids and adults alike were helping themselves to the buffet. An impromptu volleyball game was being played in the pool.

All in all, it was an awesome party.

“Hello sweet sister!” Sansa turned to see Tyrion waddling over, then she scolded herself for using the word “waddle” even in her head.

She stared at Cersei, waiting for her to respond. After several long seconds Cersei gave her a sidelong glance, “He’s talking to you.”

“Oh!”

Apparently, Tyrion and Cersei didn’t even _pretend_ to like each other. But at least they didn’t make any scenes. If anything they simply didn’t care enough about each other to even exchange insults.

“I’ve seen you running around all day. Things seem to be under control, come, let’s find a shady place and take a load off,” Tyrion held his hand out gesturing for her to lead the way.

She walked around the side of the house at a leisurely pace. They ended up sitting on a bench under a large maple tree. Tyrion handed her a bottle of beer she didn’t even notice he’d been holding while taking a sip from his own. “Great party. If I haven’t already said so, thanks for inviting me.”

“We were just so glad you could make it all the way from California.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been dying for a reason to get away. Too many silicone tits and liberals out there.”

Sansa chuckled, “I’d think you’d appreciate silicone tits.”

“You know, it stops being _novel_ when _everyone_ has them.”

“Well, you don’t have to live _in_ L.A. I’m sure it’s different to the north or east of the city.”

Tyrion teetered his hand, “Honestly, I went there because it was as far as I could get from Tywin Lannister without leaving the country. Now…” Tyrion shrugged.

“But you work out there… are you thinking of leaving?”

“I’ve done some EP work but most of what I do is as a silent investor. A non-executive producer, you could say.”

“Well, if you came back to the east coast, you know Jaime wouldn’t complain.”

“We’ll see. Jaime isn’t the one I’m worried about.”

“Your dad seems okay with you being back for the party…”

“Our dad is surprisingly good at “seeming” okay when he wants to… Anyway, enough about me. I dragged you away from the festivities because I wanted to tell you something.”

“Oh?”

Tyrion nodded, “I wanted to tell you that you’re the best thing that ever happened to Jaime. I know you won’t take _full_ responsibility for his happiness, and I’m not saying you should, but it’s no coincidence that Jaime is more open and fulfilled than he’s ever been in his life. Only one variable has been added to the equation, Sansa: _you.”_

Sansa was stunned into speechlessness. Of course, she knew Jaime was happy. She knew he was grateful that Sansa allowed him to be himself and had embraced Nate with open arms. But it had never occurred to her to think about how much Jaime’s life had changed for the better since her arrival.

However, that thought quickly led to her realizing just how much _her_ life had changed for the better. She’d been happy before – happy with her career, happy with her family and friends. But only in hindsight did she realize there had been a gaping hole in the shape of a true partner. Now she had two partners she loved more than life itself, and a third in Nate who was the only person other than Mya she had ever considered to be a “best friend”.

Sansa wasn’t ashamed to let Tyrion see the tears of joy that sprang to her eyes, “I’m surrounded by men I love, Tyrion. Sometimes it feels like more than I deserve, but mostly I’m just beyond grateful at how this strange life has worked out.”

“You deserve it,” Tyrion patted her hand, “and for everything you’ve done for my brother, probably without even realizing it, you’re one of my favorite people in the whole world.”

Jaime’s ears must have been ringing because he appeared from around the side of the house just as Tyrion and Sansa were hugging, “I should have known not to leave you alone with my brother; he’s too charming by half.”

Tyrion chuckled, “You’re wise to be careful, Jaime. If Sansa allowed me to steal her, I would in a heartbeat.” He smiled mischievously at Sansa.

Sansa excused herself to the bathroom while the brothers went back to join the party. Realizing how good Tyrion’s words had made her feel, she knew what her next stop would be.

“Enjoying yourself, Dad?”

Tywin glanced down at her, eyes slightly widened, before nodding, “It’s rare that I enjoy these types of social engagements, but as a matter of fact, I am.”

“Good. I’m glad,” Sansa looped her arm through his. They stood side by side for a few minutes, each looking wistfully at the crowd of friends and family around them.

“You’re a good father,” she said quietly enough so only he would hear.

His response was a patronizing snort, “That’s highly debatable.”

“Well, your son can tell you that I’m always right. And since I know he got his brains from you, I’m sure you’ll reach the same conclusion,” Sansa smirked at her father-in-law who rolled his eyes good naturedly.

“The only thing Jaime inherited from me is his taste in women.”

Sansa bit her lip to suppress a second round of joyful tears. Instead of making a blubbering fool of herself, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss Tywin’s cheek gently. She didn’t know everything about the enigmatic Lannister patriarch, but she knew with certainty he loved his late wife as much as any man can love a woman.

When she pulled back there was only one thing to say, “I think that’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever received.”

Tywin chuckled, “I think it’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever given – though that isn’t saying much.”

The party wore on, Sansa spending much of the remainder chatting with her parents, occasionally joined by Mya, Myranda, or a revolving door of Lannisters.

When the sun set, everyone gathered five-deep along the shoreline. Sansa looked around to find plenty of people paired off – some romantic, some familial. Ned had his arms wrapped around Catelyn. Bran was conspicuously close to Myrcella. Tom and Michael were side-by-side, even if they kept a couple inches between them. Cersei had two arms wrapped around one of Tywin’s – Bronn had long since departed to his soundproof basement. Oberyn and Ellaria were snuggled together. Countless other couples – too many for Sansa to remember by name – were embracing as they waited for the romantic scene of fireworks over the lake.

Sansa and Jaime made their way to where Sandor and Nate were chatting. Jaime wrapped his arms around Sansa from behind as they were buffered by Sandor on the right and Nate on the left. Though Sansa made a silent promise to herself that the next time they watched fireworks it would just be the four of them, she was happy enough to be here now, surrounded by the men she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. I know there wasn't a ton of SanSan/Jaimsa in it but I thought it was important to show that everyone's family situation has improved. The Starks (minus Arya) have come to accept Jaime. Tywin has decided not to be such a hardass all the time. Tyrion is on the beginning of the path toward being accepted back into his family. Tommen is out, and both Tyrion and Tommen know about Jaimsa's nontraditional marriage.
> 
> HOWEVER - rest assured this fic will continue to be focused on our favorite foursome. These occasional chapters that involve family are setting the stage for a future (in the main story or in epilogue, I'm not sure) where Jaime and Sansa are totally open with their families, and perhaps even the public at large. 
> 
> But for now, hope you continue to enjoy the story, centered around our foursome. Thanks to all who continue to read and comment!


	56. Paradise

Not for the first time, Sandor realized what a lucky motherfucker he was.

For their one-year anniversary, Sansa and Jaime rented a private island – because apparently, that was a thing. It wasn’t a lush tropical island, but a quaint, tree-covered island off the coast of Virginia with a three-bedroom house and a little bit of beachfront.

To Sandor’s surprise, Jaime and Sansa wanted him and Nate to join them, saying something about how their anniversary wasn’t just _theirs_ – it belonged to all four of them.

So on a Thursday morning they piled into the SUV, four humans and one dog. They spent the entire day driving to Virginia and took the 5-minute boat ride to the island (just enough time to make Lannister green but not enough time for him to puke).

They would spend three nights and three days living in complete isolation from the outside world. It was Sandor’s idea of perfection. Getting to be alone with his favorite people, free to be himself, with no fear that Cersei might pop in for an unexpected visit, not that that happened too often, but still. It was another Perfect Weekend, and Sandor was uncharacteristically giddy to the point that Sansa and Nate teased him. Jaime didn’t – because Jaime Lannister teasing someone else for being in a good mood was the definition of throwing stones in a glass house.

Like the unashamed lushes they all were, they packed more wine and spirits than clothing.

Nate brought his paint supplies and easel so he could paint the beach at sunset. Sansa brought CDs and a small boombox, not knowing whether her mobile phone would have reception for a music streaming app. Jaime brought board games, because ever since Sansa won a Shelby GT Mustang in a game of Monopoly, Jaime was obsessed with exploring just how sure a bet his wife’s game-skills were. Sandor was pretty certain the entrepreneur in Jaime saw an opportunity to swindle his rich friends out of everything from Rolex watches to the deeds to their house if he could be 100% certain that Sansa never lost a board game.

Sandor brought a bag of weed, since Bronn kept giving the shit to him, apparently keen to make sure Sandor shared all his vices.

Nate didn’t waste any time in revealing his true motives in bringing his art supplies. He had decided to draw Sansa’s nude on the beach, and what better opportunity than when on a private island?

Sandor was pleasantly surprised that Nate wanted to draw her from behind, sitting on the sand (Sansa bitched about getting sand in her vijayjay) watching the sunset. Jaime and Sandor of course teased him that he was failing to capture all her “best parts”, but Nate was nothing if not determined. He drew quickly and efficiently, going for a more abstract style where he captured the curves and colors of Sansa and her surroundings as opposed to the details of her form. As such he finished the painting in only one sitting, and everyone was impressed. Sandor could see why Nate – a purebred queer – had a thing for the female form. Who wouldn’t appreciate the slopes and curves at her shoulders, waist, and hips? Nate even managed to make the muscles along her spine look sensual. Then again, Sandor was very biased.

After giving her stamp of approval Sansa headed down to the water to wash sand out of all her “nooks and crannies”. It sounded like a two-person job, so Sandor generously volunteered to help.

Sandor was pleasantly surprised that when they walked back to the house, Jaime and Nate were behind a closed bedroom door. He turned right back around, leading Sansa by the hand to the hot tub.

Sure, they had a hot tub at home, but something about being on vacation made this hot tub seem like a very naughty place to fuck, and Sandor prided himself on finding naughty (but private) places to fuck.

He took his time to thoroughly tease her with his fingers, making sure she was slick enough to counter the chlorinated water, before easing himself into her as she straddled his lap.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her tits as she rolled her hips leisurely against him, in no apparent rush to find her bliss. After all, they had all the time in the world.

The sounds around them were almost deafening – the jacuzzi bubbling, the waves crashing, the tinkling of wind chimes on the breeze. Sansa panted against his lips as both hands held his face. They’d had plenty of hard and fast encounters, replete with dirty words and cursing as they each chased their pleasure with animalistic need. But _this_ was perhaps Sandor’s favorite. Bodies pressed together, skin to skin, lips to lips, moving slowly and purposely; letting the pleasure find them instead of pursuing it.

He knew it had found her, at least, when her movements became less graceful, more hurried. He guided her hips and let himself be overcome as well. As she cried into his shoulder Sandor let his head drop back against the ledge of the hot tub and let himself go surrounded by the inky sky and more stars than the mind could fathom.

…

After what was intended to be a quickie, Jaime and Nate poured themselves some scotch and headed outside to find their roommates.

Nate held a finger to his lips when they found the other couple in the hot tub, Sansa collapsed against Sandor in what looked like a post-coital haze.

Nate crept over unseen and picked up Sandor’s swim trunks, tossing them back toward the house.

The noise caught Sandor’s attention and he turned to find Nate and Jaime, trying too hard to look innocent. The large man scowled at them, but Jaime had stopped being intimidated by his scowls months ago.

“Did we miss the show?” Jaime asked as he and Nate stripped back down to their boxers and climbed in.

Sansa begrudgingly pried herself from her man and sat beside him, “Sorry… you missed the climatic ending by about two minutes. Next time don’t stop for popcorn.”

“Before this weekend is over, I’m going to catch you two fucking,” Nate stated with conviction.

Sandor groaned while Sansa raised a brow, “Well turnabout is fair play.”

Nate stared at her blankly, “Is that supposed to be a threat? We’ll put on a show for you anywhere, anytime, kitten.”

Sandor groaned again, “Can you stop talking please? And stop trying to catch us in the act.”

Nate rolled his eyes, “Come on Sandor, you have to admit, if any two people were going to walk in on you guys having sex, it would be me and Jaime, right?”

“No, it would be Gal Gadot and young Michelle Pfeiffer.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Just because you have two hands, a mouth, and a cock doesn’t mean you can please three women at the same time.”

Sandor sat forward looking genuinely insulted, “You know damn well I could. I have excellent coordination and multi-tasking abilities.”

“Wow,” Nate said drily, “Talk dirty some more.”

Sandor waved him off and sat back again. Jaime grinned as he had just formed a wonderful idea, “Alright, let’s say Sansa is right and two women is your limit. You have to choose between Sansa and Gal or Sansa and Michelle. Which one?”

“Can I choose Gal and Michelle?”

Sansa smacked him in the chest, quite possibly harder than she ever had before.

“Ouch, crazy woman! I was just fucking with you. I’d take Sansa and Gal.”

Nate arched a brow, “Did you just get Sandor to play _would you rather_ without him knowing it?”

“Yup,” Jaime popped the ‘p’.

“Ooh, I wanna play,” Sansa clapped and wiggled.

Nate rolled his eyes, “Of course you do, kitten. But it’s still Jaime’s turn.”

“Alright,” Jaime nodded, then turned to face Nate, “Would you rather fuck that guy in your finance department—”

“Oh, fuck you!”

Jaime smirked, “… _or_ Sansa?”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“What’s wrong with the guy in the finance department?” Sandor asked.

Nate threw his head back dramatically, “Where should I begin?! He is a horrible dresser, for one. He talks really slowly and takes _forever_ to say something that could be communicated in literally ten seconds. He has chronic halitosis, yet I’ve never seen him with a mint or a piece of gum. He inserts himself into everyone else’s conversations. And after he makes what he thinks are funny comments he stares you down until you laugh. The man is _insufferable!”_

“Wow,” Sansa raised her brows, “If you don’t pick me, I might never forgive you.”

Nate groaned, “Do I get to pick which hole?”

“Hey!” Sansa screeched.

“Nope,” Jaime replied with a shit-eating grin.

Nate rubbed his eyes, “Ugh… I still gotta go with Sansa. Steve does _not_ deserve my cock.”

“Yay!” Sansa clapped.

Sandor turned to her, “Should I be worried?”

Sansa shrugged, “No, why?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Alright, Lannister. Your turn to ask Sansa. Better not make it too hard or we’ll be here all night.”

“That’s what she said,” Jaime winked, not sure it worked but not really caring. “Alright, Sansa. Would you rather fuck a young George C. Scott, or Vladimir Putin?”

Even under moonlight Jaime could see her cheeks turn into flames, “I’m never telling you _anything_ again.”

“Wait,” Sandor held out his hands, “Why do I get the impression that you mean them to be two _good_ choices?”

“Excellent question, my friend,” Jaime smiled, “You see, Sansa has a thing for men who exude power. Over the course of our one-year marriage, I have learned that she finds the following men attractive: George C. Scott, Vladimir Putin, the guy on the Dos Equis commercial – you know, “the most interesting man in the world”, Patrick Stewart – in his Captain Pickard uniform, the guy who plays Agent Smith in the Matrix movies, and – drumroll please… Tywin Lannister.”

Nate and Sandor were staring at Sansa – who’d buried her face in her hands – with mouths agape. Jaime was pretty sure he was going to pay for this later, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Sansa finally lifted her head up, “My answer is young George. And you _will_ be punished for this.”

“I look forward to it, wife.”

“Alright, someone else go while I’m recovering from my embarrassment.”

Sandor surprisingly volunteered, “I feel the need to defend my lady’s honor. So, Lannister would you rather your dad walk in on you and Nate having sex, or—”

Jaime held his hands up, “The other option. You don’t even need to say it.”

“ _Or_ … have Robert Baratheon walk in on you and Nate having sex?”

“Oh, fuck… hold on.”

Sandor smirked devilishly, “Thought you’d say that.”

“Damn… that is literally impossible to answer. Does that mean I lost?”

Nate sided with Sandor, “There’s no winning and losing this game, Jaims, you gotta answer.”

“Fuck! This is really hard!”

“That’s what she said,” Sansa mumbled. Jaime was jealous that hers worked way better than his, but he had bigger problems at the moment.

“Ugh, fine… I’m going with Robert, because afterwards I’m going to kill him. I don’t want to have to kill my own father… anymore”

Sandor shrugged, “I guess that’s logical. Alright Nate, your turn. Would you rather go a year without sex, or a year without booze?”

“Sex,” Nate answered without missing a beat.

“Hey!”

“Sorry Jaims,” Nate shrugged.

Sandor turned to Sansa, “Babe, same question.”

“Sex,” she answered almost as rapidly and with equal certainty.

“Hey!” Sandor and Jaime shouted in unison.

Sansa held out her hands, “Really? You can still masturbate, but there is no substitute for being drunk.”

“Masturbation and sex aren’t even _close_ to being the same thing,” Jaime insisted.

“Well, biologically speaking, they kinda are, hubby.”

“No… no,” Sandor shook his head vehemently. It was always interesting what the typically aloof man chose to get passionate about.

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Fine, then my question to _you_ is whether you’d rather go a year without booze or a year without sex.”

Sandor held his hands out, palms down, as he did whenever he wanted his word to not be challenged, “Booze. It’s not even a fucking question.”

“Then why’d you ask it to Nate and me?”

“Because Nate sided with me over Lannister so I thought I’d toss him a soft ball… and I then I wanted to lord it over Lannister that you would choose sex over booze after Nate chose booze over sex. But that fucking backfired.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Alright, your turn Nate…”

“No!” Jaime shouted, “We’re _not_ done here… you two could go a year without having sex?”

Nate and Sansa nodded casually.

“Fuck. I mean… am I doing it wrong?”

“Don’t feel bad, dude. I fuck her, too,” Sandor commiserated, leaning back against the wall of the jacuzzi in a defeated fashion.

“Oh my God! You two are such big babies!” Sansa cried, “Ugh! You know what? You two sit there and sulk all you want. My question for you, Nate, is whether you’d rather _get_ a blowjob from Ryan Reynolds, or _give_ a blowjob to Tom Brady.”

Nate snorted, “Kitten, they don’t call him the greatest of all time for no reason. It would be an _honor_ to _give_ to TB12.”

“ _It would be an honor to give to TB12, meh_!” Jaime parroted, in what he knew was the most juvenile act he’d committed since ninth grade.

Nate rolled his eyes and – deciding to take the high road – continued with the game, “Sansa, I’m giving you a trifecta – would you rather fuck young Clint Eastwood, young Robert Redford, or young Paul Newman?”

“Ugh! No, Natey Cakes! That is like Sophie’s Choice,” she threw her arms up.

Sansa looked like she might tear her hair out as she began deliberating, much to Sandor and Jaime’s impatience and Nate’s thorough amusement. “Alright, let’s do process of elimination… I’m going to eliminate Robert first, because I can have sex with Jaime whenever I want, and he looks like a young Robert Redford…”

“Don’t try sucking up to me now!” Jaime pouted

Sansa ignored him. Of course. “So it’s Clint or Paul… ugh! I can’t decide. This is an impossible decision, like asking me to choose to give up either pasta or bread!”

“So I guess we know you’d go a year without sex before a year without carbs,” Sandor crossed his arms over his chest.

Sansa ignored him, too. “Okay, critical question here, and you need to answer it, Nate: Paul with or without a beard?”

Nate shrugged, “Without?”

“Then the answer is Clint.”

“What if Clint doesn’t have a beard either?” Jaime asked, feigning interest.

“That dude doesn’t need a beard. He’s got hair for days.”

Nate nodded, “When you’re right, you’re right. Okay, Jaims. Sansa just gave me some inspiration. Would you rather go a year without sex, _or_ a year without shaving?”

Jaime knew his cheeks were on fire. Nate, the evil bitch, knew him too well. Jaime couldn’t go more than five days without shaving or else he’d spend the whole day scratching his neck. He’d tried to grow a beard twice in his life. He made it eight days the first time and thirteen days the second time.

“You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?”

Nate laughed wickedly, “So you’d go a whole year without having sex with me or Sansa?! I am _devastated!”_ He and Sansa feigned hysterical sobbing while Jaime took it on the chin.

Jaime groaned, “Let’s get this shit over with. Nate, it’s your turn to ask Sandor.”

Nate rubbed his hands together, “And boy have I got a doozy! Alright, Sandor, would you rather have sex with any man of your choosing, _or_ —”

“The second option,” Sandor spoke definitively, clearly not learning from Jaime’s earlier mistake.

“ _OR –_ watch Sansa have sex with any man of her choosing, excluding Jaime.”

The blushes were contagious tonight, only in Sandor’s case it was in reaction to simmering rage rather than painful embarrassment.

“Fuck you,” Sandor growled. Sansa and Nate burst into peals of laughter.

Sandor spun around and began looking behind him. He turned back to Sansa, “Where are my swim trunks?”

She shrugged, “I dunno; where did you leave them?”

Sandor huffed, “If I knew that I’d know where they are!”

“You can’t leave before you answer, anyway,” Nate bravely prodded the bear.

“I’m not answering that fucking question because it’s all part of your plan to gayify me.”

“How? By making you admit you’d rather have sex with a man than watch Sansa do the same?”

Sandor pointed a finger in Nate’s direction, “Nate, I’m not playing around.” Jaime actually felt fear for his lover.

“Neither am I,” Nate crossed his arms brazenly, “Wanna know where your trunks are? Just answer the question.”

“You crafty little bitch…” Sandor growled.

“Yeeuuupp!” Nate grinned.

Sandor sat back down, “Fine. But you’re all on my shit list after this.” He let out a long sigh, “I’d rather… you know… the first option.”

“You’d rather fuck a man?”

Sandor squeezed his eyes shut but nodded.

“I’m sorry, buddy, but I’m gonna need you to say it out loud.”

“Fine! I’d rather fuck a man than watch Sansa get fucked by another man. You happy now?! Is your life complete?!”

Nate nodded, “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Now where are my trunks?”

Nate nodded toward the house, “By the back door.”

“You tricksy little cunt!” Sandor grumbled some inaudible but undoubtedly colorful language before looking around, “Lady! Come here lady!”

The pup trotted over from where she’d been playing on the beach, unsupervised. Jaime made a mental note to be a more attentive parent to his future human kids than to his present canine kid.

“Lady, fetch!” Sandor pointed at the shorts sitting near the back door, but all Lady did was jump up to try to nip at his index finger.

“Fetch, girl!” Sandor tried again. The dog was entirely fixated on his hand.

“Useless mutt!” he grumbled. He turned back around but didn’t meet anyone’s eyes before saying, “Fuck it.” He pulled Sansa in front of him and held her there as he carefully climbed out of the hot tub, then began walking backwards toward the house while Sansa laughed so hard she nearly squirmed right out of his arms.

As soon as the patio door shut behind them, Jaime and Nate laughed so loudly they were probably heard from the mainland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I think I'm evil, because I love torturing Sandor with Nate and Jaime's gayness. But only because Sansa, Jaime, and Nate know he's not gay, so to them it is just free entertainment. Like a couple chapters ago when they wanted 4-way spooning. To the three of them it's just fun cuddles, but Sandor is convinced they're trying to "gayify" him. 
> 
> Maybe now's a good time to share what I envision Sandor's sexuality to be in this fic. Put simply, he's straight. Not bi, not "fluid". Straight. BUT he's not sexually repulsed by men. He's not a guy that would barf at the idea of fucking a dude, but nor would he ever initiate a M/M encounter on his own. Recall he grew up under the oppressive and macho shadow of Gregor, so even though he's not a homophobe nor was he raised to believe it's "okay" to be gay. With a different childhood, he might even have ended up being the inverse of Jaime (85% straight, 15% gay). 
> 
> By now, he has thrice had sex with Sansa while Jaime watched (though didn't know it the first time) and once had a threesome with Jaime and Sansa. I like to think these were all things Sandor didn't EXPECT to enjoy, but that afterwards, lying in bed, he found himself thinking "that was actually kind of hot". He won't admit so out loud, but Sansa and Jaime are smart enough to know that if Sandor doesn't like something, he tells you.
> 
> Reminder - I'm a straight female. If my views on other sexualities offend anyone, it isn't my intent, but I think I know enough to know sexuality is a spectrum that consists of more than gay, bi, and straight. 
> 
> It's kind of fun to think about Sandor Clegane's sexuality even in book/show canon. He is one of the few male characters that is never seen with a whore (though without a Sandor POV we can't be sure). With his assumption that everyone is repulsed by his scars, is it possible he's a virgin? (BTW - I have a modern virgin Sandor fic underway). It is possible he's gay? He does threaten to rape the corpse of any man who dies w/ a clean sword... just saying... In S8 of show he turns down a wench who's hitting on him and, if I'm not reading into it too much, Sansa who's giving him sexy eyes. And then there are his words to Arya when she leaves him to die - says he should have fucked her sister bloody so he'd have one good memory. I think most of us interpret that as his warped admission of caring for Sansa, but what if it was his warped admission that he'd never been with a woman at all...
> 
> What was I talking about again? LOL.


	57. Unsex-off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter starts the same weekend as the previous chapter - with our favorite foursome celebrating Jaime and Sansa's anniversary by renting a little private island off the Virginia coastline.

“Do they always giggle this much during sex?” Nate asked.

Sandor shook his head, “Don’t know. I’m usually in the den or out back while they’re…ya know”

Nate laughed, “Oh come on, does it really bother you?”

Sandor shrugged, “No, not like it did at first. Doesn’t mean I want to _hear_ it, though.”

Another cackle of Sansa’s laughter was heard from behind the bedroom door where she and Jaime were celebrating their anniversary.

Nate rolled his eyes, “I guess everyone has their own idea of foreplay.”

Sandor turned up the volume on the TV with a sigh. The rental house had only a few cable channels, so they were currently watching Nova on PBS. Nate would have preferred watching infomercials or even static, but Sandor seemed fascinated by the special about the latest science pertaining to black holes. At least, as fascinated as he could be while Jaime and Sansa were getting it on less than twenty feet away.

During a commercial Sandor grumbled, “I can’t believe she thinks she could go a year without sex. She’s hornier than me and Lannister combined.”

Nate hummed, “Sounds like a challenge is in the works.”

Sandor turned to him, “Nate, that’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said.”

Nate shrugged, “That’s only because you’ve never heard my theory on black holes.”

Sandor’s eyes lit up, “What’s that?”

Nate laughed, “That they’re black and they’re holey.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Aww…” Nate spoke in an exaggeratedly sympathetic voice as he poked Sandor in the side, “did you get excited thinking you finally had someone to talk to about all the knowledge in that big brain of yours?”

_“Oh fuck, Jaime! Faster, pleeeaaase!”_

“Fuck this,” Sandor stood up, “I’m taking the dog out.”

Nate rolled his eyes but took advantage of Sandor’s absence to turn down the TV volume so he could enjoy the auditory entertainment. Though hetero sex wasn’t his thing, picturing Jaime slamming into Sansa, his muscles rippling, sweat trickling down his spine, was undeniably arousing.

In their own encounters, Nate most often gave, and Jaime received. It was just what worked for them. But that didn’t mean he didn’t like seeing Jaime occasionally be the one in charge. The man’s physique put most twenty-year-olds to shame.

_“Oh God, I’m so close… please… don’t stop!”_

Damn, Nate was getting hard. He had to tamp it down or else Sansa would _never_ let him live it down. She’d ramble on and on about how the idea of Jaime fucking her slippery vagina made Nate randy.

_“Oh fuck!! That’s good… that’s good… yes, yes, yes, ye-essssss!!!”_

_“Fuck, woman. I love feeling you come on my dick.”_

_Damn it!_ Now Nate was fully hard. He contemplated going into one of the other bedrooms and taking care of himself, but if there was a chance Jaime would be available to him later, he didn’t want to pass it up. The idea of fucking Jaime while he was spent and languid from making love to Sansa was very hot. Jaime would be all relaxed and open, but eventually he’d get hard again, and Nate would stroke him off while claiming him.

He crept closer to the door so he could hear Jaime when he spent himself. It was quite possibly Nate’s favorite sound in the whole wide world.

 _“God, Sansa…”_ Jaime groaned, voice tight.

_“Fuck, baby, come for me. I want you to come inside me… God! You’re so deep…”_

Jaime was an obedient sort, that was sure. He groaned and grunted, and Nate could just imagine him burying himself to the hilt as his body trembled with pleasure.

 _“Mmm,”_ Sansa moaned a minute or so later. Now Nate imagined her stroking Jaime’s hair as he laid boneless on top of her. _“Happy anniversary, honey.”_

It sounded like Jaime chuckled, _“A **very**_ _happy anniversary, indeed.”_

Sansa giggled, _“Here’s to the next year being even better than the last.”_

_“If I had a scotch in my hand, I’d drink to that.”_

A bit of time passed, probably while Jaime extricated himself from her and rolled over to catch his breath. Then, he heard Sansa’s voice again: _“This is the best weekend ever, don’t you think? You, me, Nate and Sandor? Come on hubby, you’re rich enough we never need to work again. Let’s spend the rest of our lives like this.”_

Nate smiled. He knew she was only half-serious, but the idea of buying some secluded property, or even some modest private island like this one, and living the rest of their days in the company of no one but each other held so much appeal that it was almost painful to think about.

The sentimentality had Nate forgetting the very aroused state he’d been in. Without worrying whether Jaime and Sansa wanted their privacy, he pushed open the door. Sansa and Jaime looked up at him, bewildered, from where they lay entwined on the bed.

“Sansa’s right, baby! Let’s do it!” Nate exclaimed as he jumped on the bed like a happy puppy.

“Umm… were you listening through the door?”

Nate shrugged, “Maybe.”

Jaime rolled his eyes as Nate laid down behind him, reaching around to encircle Jaime and Sansa both.

“Come on, kitten. We can wear him down, don’t you think?”

She grinned widely, “You know I never back down from a challenge.”

“I know! It’s what I love about you!”

“Aww! Natey Cakes!”

“Should I leave you two alone?” Jaime groaned from the middle.

“No!” they replied in unison. Then Sansa added, “Where’s Sandor? We can have another cuddle fest!”

As if on cue, the sound of the back door opening and shutting alerted them to the big man’s presence. Lady bounded into the bedroom and hopped onto the bed, looking both confused and excited to see so many of her humans in one place together.

Sandor must have noticed the open bedroom door, “Good, you’re done,” he spoke as he walked down the hall, “Sansa Lannister, I hereby challenge you to a…” His voice stopped abruptly as his eyes landed on them. “Oh fucking balls!” he averted his eyes, “Lannister, put some fucking clothes on.”

Jaime chuckled, “Hey, you’re the one who barged in on us in our post-coital cuddling.”

“You’re the one who left the door open.”

“Actually that was Nate.”

“Stop splitting hairs and put some clothes on so I can come in.”

“Need I remind you it’s nothing you haven’t seen before?” Jaime teased.

“Need I remind you I can kill you with my bare hands?”

“Point taken,” Jaime removed himself from four loving arms and pulled a pair of pajama pants out of the dresser while tossing one of his undershirts to Sansa. “Alright, I’m decent now.”

“Good,” Sandor stepped into the room, “As I was saying. I am challenging Sansa to a sex-off. Er, an unsex-off. A… whatever. Sansa, I bet I can go longer without sex than you can.”

Jaime shook his head, “Dude, that sounds like the least fun challenge ever.”

Sansa sat up and pulled on the shirt, “What are the terms?”

“Neither of us can have sex… with _anyone,”_ Sandor glared briefly at Jaime, “and whoever caves first, loses.”

“The stakes?”

“If I win, you’re going to wear a sexy schoolgirl outfit and I’ll be the teacher. Your grades are slipping so you come to see if there is any way you can earn extra credit. And we’ll do it in Jaime’s office.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “That’s your idea of a punishment?”

“You’d _want_ to do that?”

“Uh, yah.”

“Damn… wish I’d known that a while ago,” Sandor scratched his beard. “Okay, umm… right… umm… oh, I’ve got it! If I win, you have to go a month without drinking any form of alcohol. No, _two_ months!”

Sansa winced, “Alright, fine, but if I win—”

“Wait!” Nate called out, “You guys need to establish ground rules here. Are you allowed to try to tease and tempt the other person? Because, no offense kitten, but if Sandor walks around shirtless every day, you’re not going to last a week.”

Sandor grinned proudly. Sansa shook her head, “And if I walk around in a schoolgirl uniform, Sandor isn’t going to last an hour.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Jaime shook his head, “Remember the maid outfit? I wanted to bow down to his self-restraint. I’m only 15% straight and even _I_ had a hard time not taking you bent over the tub.”

Nate rolled his eyes, “And what about masturbation? Are you allowed to masturbate?”

Sansa answered “no” while Sandor answered “yes”. Then the big guy scowled at her, “That’s unfair. Men have a biological need to… _release_.”

“Fine, masturbation allowed,” Sansa smiled.

Jaime grimaced, “Big mistake, man. You know she’s going to masturbate right in front of you to try to wear you down.”

Sansa grinned proudly but Sandor wasn’t fazed, “Well _two_ can play that game.”

Nate chuckled, “Alright, so you’ve got the rules laid out, all that’s left to decide is what will happen if Sandor loses.”

“I’m not going to lose.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Sansa sing-songed.

“Whatever… what’ll it be?” Sandor huffed.

“If you lose, I’m putting you in a cock cage and making you watch Jaime and I have sex.”

Sandor looked horrified while Jaime’s eyes lit up, “Dude, I will give you a _million_ dollars to throw the competition.”

“Kitten, it sounds like you’ve had this cock cage idea locked and loaded for a while.”

Sansa blushed, “Maybe.”

Sandor shook his head, “What is this, some kind of dominatrix thing?”

“Might be, I just know the idea of you all tensed up, your cock straining against its little metal prison, it really does it for me.”

Nate couldn’t agree more, “Oh, you should use your vibrator to torture his cock. I’ve seen that in porn.”

“Ooh, great idea!”

“No!” Sandor practically shouted, then forced himself to calm, “Look… before I agree, I need some clarification – will I get to have an orgasm when your… _encounter_ with Jaime is over?”

Sansa nodded, “Of course, I’m not a _savage_.”

“Alright, and I want the key in _my_ possession.”

“As long as you don’t unlock yourself before I give permission, that’s fair. I don’t want bolt cutters near your junk any more than you do, believe me.”

Jaime inserted himself into their conversation, “Wait, can I get in on this? Because if I win, I’m going to make Sansa wear one of those remote-control vibrators for an entire night out on the town. I, of course, will have the controller.”

“No! That’s not fair, it’ll be two against one. You and Sandor will both try to tempt me.”

Jaime smiled conspiratorially at Sandor, “Just think, if she loses, she’ll have to get through the vibration torture night fully sober.”

Sandor’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, great idea.”

“No!” Sansa shrieked, “Besides, it won’t work… let’s say Sandor caves first, that means he admits defeat and gets to have sex with me. But if he and I have sex, then I’ve lost to Jaime!”

Jaime tapped his lips, “True… damn… alright, how about this – the first to cave loses, period. They have to endure their punishment.”

“But if I lose it’ll be _two_ punishments; that’s not fair,” Sansa crossed her arms.

“Fine, then we _each_ will have two punishments.”

“Okay. Hubby, my punishment for you if you lose is that you can’t shave for two months.”

“Damn!”

“Alright, my punishment for Lannister is he has to wear cheap suits for two months.”

Jaime gasped, “You _bastard_! You two want me looking like a hobo!? I have a reputation to maintain!”

“Fine, then _you_ have to wear the cock cage while I fuck Sansa. And just so you know, I _can_ go all night long.”

“Yay!!” Sansa chirped.

Nate joined her and they held hands while bouncing on their knees on the bed, “Kitten, I’m buying you a state-of-the-art vibrator so you can win this competition!”

Jaime pried them apart, “No! No artificial aids! The masturbation permitted is hands and fingers only, the way God intended.”

“I agree with Lannister,” Sandor crossed his arms.

Sansa pouted but relented, “Fine. No vibrators. So, Jaime, what’s your punishment if Sandor loses?”

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask. He has to come out with the three of us to a gay club.”

“Hell fucking no! I don’t even like normal clubs.”

“Oh, so straight is “normal”?” Nate asked indignantly.

Sandor narrowed his eyes, “You know what the fuck I mean.”

Jaime was already pleading, “ _Come on_ , it’s _one_ night. And I should have said _bar_ , not club. We won’t make you dance, but you will need to accept drinks from any man that offers to buy you one.”

“Fu-uck… how did this get so out of hand?!” Sandor threw his arms up, “All I wanted was to play naughty teacher with Sansa, now I’m at risk of having my cock locked up _and_ having to be surrounded by a whole bar full of queers?”

Sansa shook her head, “Wait Jaime… I’m all for it, but is it really a good idea for you to be seen at a gay bar?”

“Hmm… Good point… Okay, we’ll bring Cersei and Bronn, too. Then if word gets out, it’ll just seem like a bunch of straights trying to do something edgy.”

Nate shrugged, “Lots of straights go to _Tory’s_ just for the atmosphere. It’s toned down. I don’t think we want to overload Sandor by bringing him someplace where they put on drag shows and the bartenders wear nothing but speedos.”

Sandor groaned, “Thanks, Nate, but I’m not sure about this…”

Sansa threw her arms around his neck, “Fine, how about this? No matter who wins, you and I will do the naughty teacher thing… but _only_ if you accept the challenge.”

Sandor dropped his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

**…**

Day 1: After work, Jaime cooked dinner with his dress shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up. Sandor spent an hour working out and emerged from the gym in a tight, sweat-soaked tank top, which he removed as he sauntered past Sansa into the laundry room.

Day 2: Sansa lounged by the pool in a thong bikini. The red one that she’d bought for their trip to Costa Rica. Sandor griped about being a prisoner in his own house, unable to use his own swimming pool.

Day 3: Sansa wore those painted-on yoga pants and a tiny tank top. Sandor had to leave the house. Jaime locked himself in his office.

Day 4: Sandor spent the day doing yardwork in jeans slung low on his hips, showing off all kinds of V-muscle. After work, Jaime swam laps in the pool, then emerged dripping and shimmery, telling Sansa how much he loves doing the _breaststroke_.

Day 5: Sansa, that little cocktease, put on the sexy maid outfit to clean the house. When Sandor asked what the hell she was wearing, she replied, _“Oh this old thing? I realized you bought me this outfit and I’ve only worn it once. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.”_ Sandor locked himself in his room to jerk off… and was pretty certain Lannister was doing the same.

It was the first Saturday of their challenge. Nate came over around breakfast time, so he got to witness the depravity firsthand. Sansa wore only cheeky boy shorts and a white tank top that left nothing to the imagination. Sandor had basketball shorts sitting so low they were undoubtedly being held up only by his cock. It really was unfair that Jaime had to see both of them, though he supposed it was just as unfair for Sansa. After all, she drooled over Jaime’s lean muscled back just as she did over Sandor’s broad chest and toned abs.

“Kitten! I have such good news!” Nate called as he walked through the foyer. Then he took in the sight of everyone and laughed, “Hello shirtless men and pants-less lady… anyway, remember that consultant I’ve been trying to get? The one that is in digital for BMW?” He pulled a box of croissants out of a tote.

Sansa scrunched her nose in thought, “Wait – is he the one that reminds you of Keanu Reeves?”

Jaime knew he was walking into a trap but couldn’t reign in his curiosity, “Point Break Keanu Reeves or John Wick Keanu reeves?”

“John Wick hair, Point Break bod.”

Jaime groaned.

“Yeah, what about him?” Sansa asked, already tearing off a bite of croissant.

“Well he took the position!”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Keep it in your pants, kitten.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow, “I think _you’re_ the one who needs to be told that.”

“What? He’s definitely straight. But he’ll be working under me a lot—”

“Is _that_ a euphemism?”

Nate rolled his eyes, “so I’ll have something nice to look at all day.”

Sansa huffed, “Well you could just hang out around here every day. They’re being so cruel to me, Natey Cakes,” she pouted.

“Aww, honey, what are they doing?”

“Sandor hasn’t worn a shirt in days! And Jaime keeps doing that thing with his hair, you know the thing.”

“Ugh, come here, kitten,” Nate opened his arms wide and Sansa let him wrap her up in a hug. She stood on her tiptoes to put her arms fully around Nate’s neck, and it did marvelous things to her already marvelous butt.

Jaime knew it was a set up. Seeing sexy-as-fuck Nate, with his dark tan skin and the t-shirt that clung to his biceps and chest, hugging Sansa in her skimpy little boy shorts… the two people he found sexiest in the entire world were teaming up against him.

Wondering if he and Sandor could find similar a way to work together against Sansa, Jaime looked to the man, only to find he was already glaring back over a cup of coffee, “Don’t even think about it, Lannister.”

“It’s for a good cause! You want to let her win?!”

“I have no intention of letting her win, but I also have no intention of touching you.”

Sansa turned in Nate’s embrace, but stayed leaning against him, her butt pressed scandalously into his groin. It may not be doing anything for Nate, but it was doing something for Jaime. She tsked, “That’s too bad,” she turned her head as if speaking to Nate, but clearly her words were intended for her two opponents, “If they made out right now, that would be so hot… I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself.”

Jaime gazed imploringly at Sandor who only crossed his arms, “It’s a fucking trick, man. She’s saying that just so I’ll make a fool out of myself. Sansa is too damned competitive to throw in the towel after only a week.”

Sansa whimpered, “If Jaime went down on Sandor, I’d definitely cave. On my honor as a Stark.”

Jaime’s knees danced up and down, “Dude! We can win it right now! Just think – she doesn’t drink for two months, she spends a night being tortured by a vibrator ­ _in public_ while trying not to come, _and_ you get to have your naughty teacher/schoolgirl fantasy.”

Sandor leaned forward, “Let me make something very, _very_ clear: if your lips come anywhere near my mouth or my cock, you’ll never find out who wins and who loses, because I will beat you to death with my bare hands.”

Jaime huffed, “Well that ruined the mood.”

“That was the idea.”

“Wow… you guys are doing a surprisingly good job,” Nate nodded, “I guess it’s time to bring out the big guns.” He smacked Sansa on the butt and Jaime literally snarled at him. When this was over, Nate was gonna get it.

“What’s that?” Sansa asked as Nate began rooting through the shopping tote.

“The big guns,” he winked. He produced two DVDs, “One is a compilation of the best M/M/M scenes, and the other is a compilation of the best girl on girl scenes.”

“Nate!” Sansa gushed, “You’re so thoughtful… you knew to make sure there was no guy on girl so your plan wouldn’t backfire on me!”

“Of course… you _have_ to win, kitten. Because seeing Sandor in a gay bar will make my life complete… and scruffy Jaime is the sexiest thing in the world.”

“Should we go watch one of these in the den?”

“Yeah, make sure you turn on the surround sound.”

As Sansa led Nate away, he glanced down at her bottom, “How do you have such a great butt if you never exercise?”

Sansa shrugged, “Good genes I guess.”

“I can see why Sandor likes doggy style the best. If I was straight, that’s totally the type of ass I’d want my girlfriend to have.”

“Aww!! Thanks, Natey Cakes!”

“No problem, kitten!”

Once again Jaime looked to Sandor, who was once again scowling at him.

“What?”

“Control your bitch, Lannister.”

Jaime wanted to be insulted but he couldn’t deny that Nate was such a dangerous nemesis. As the sounds of women moaning wafted up from the den Jaime rolled his eyes, “Well, I _was_ going to work today. Think I’ll just swing by my dad’s.”

Sandor nodded, “I think I’ll go for a jog. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll die of heat exhaustion or get hit by a car.”

…

And so it went on for weeks, each day finding them more and more desperate. Some of their respective low (or high) points were:

\--Sandor pinning Sansa to the wall and dry humping her while kissing her senseless. It was a risk on his part, but Sansa came _so_ close to cracking. Jaime thought she might have come pretty close to cumming, too, based on the way she flushed and moaned moments before Sandor dropped her to the ground.

\--Sansa cornering Jaime in his office and then laying herself naked on his desk and playing with herself, all while moaning for Jaime to touch her. He didn’t. But he did touch himself.

\--Sandor walking into his room to find Sansa handcuffed to the bed, naked but for a lace thong. Nate had helped her get set up, apparently. Sandor came running out of the room like it was Linda Blair, not his girlfriend, strapped to the bed. Because Jaime was a pushover, he was the one who went back into the room to retrieve the key out of Sansa’s panties and remove the handcuffs, mindful of where his eyes and hands landed.

\--Jaime spooning Sansa while jerking off and making sure the tip of his cock brushed against her panty-clad lips with each pump. That’s what she woke up to, and for a moment Jaime thought her sleepy brain was going to tell him to fuck her. _No such luck._

\--Jaime walking into _his_ bedroom to find Nate naked and handcuffed to the bed. Since Sandor owed Jaime a solid, he was the one to evict the traitor, though he cursed the whole time. Nate had never strayed from Team Sansa. He whispered in Jaime’s ear all the dirty things he wanted to do to him or have done to him. Every time he came over, he was wearing a tight white t-shirt – the ones that contrasted so nicely against his mocha skin while gripping his shoulders, biceps, and pecs.

Considering everything they’d collectively endured, the straw that finally broke the camel’s back was relatively innocent. As they were eating breakfast one morning, Sansa, wearing unassuming cotton pajamas plopped herself on Sandor’s lap. She arched her back and rolled her hips every time she leaned across the table to reach for something, but then would resume her seemingly innocent pose.

Her eyes were locked with Jaime across the table as she pretty much fellated a banana. He squirmed in his seat for a moment before he couldn’t take it and stood to go upstairs and take care of himself. Sandor appeared to be of the same mind as he lifted Sansa off of his lap. Jaime thought he was going to literally throw her like a basketball but instead his forearm swept across the table, sending plates flying. He had his and Sansa’s shorts dropped and was plunged into her so fast Jaime thought he should be doing quick change acts in Vegas. She was bent over the table, tits bouncing, cheeks flushed, panting in time with his brutal thrusts. Jaime stood there watching, awestruck.

“You fucking win,” Sandor growled into her ear when he lowered himself over her.

“Please, baby, I need to come,” Sansa whined.

“No you fucking don’t,” Sandor rasped as he spent himself inside her, probably less than thirty seconds after the whole thing started. Jaime was once again in awe of the man. He lost, he surrendered, but he made sure to torture Sansa one last time – leaving her wet and wanting. The man had his pride, and that was enviable.

A moment later Sandor was catching his breath and tucking himself back in when he pointed an accusatory finger at Jaime, “Don’t you dare fuck her, Lannister. Naughty little minx doesn’t deserve it.”

“Hey!” Sansa squealed, but Jaime already had his phone dug out of his pocket.

“Hey, Nate… any chance you’re free _right now?”_

_“Who caved?”_

“Sandor.”

_“Wow… my money was on you.”_

“Thanks for the confidence.”

_“Well, thirty-one days is nothing to be ashamed of.”_

“You can tell him that yourself. He looks rather homicidal at the moment.”

_“Hah! Alright Jaims, I’ll come over and protect you.”_

“I don’t need you to protect me, I need you to fuck me. Or rather, let me fuck you. You down?”

_“Eh, fine. I’ll just think about how fun it’s going to be when we get Sandor to Tory’s. You know queers are going to love him, right?”_

Jaime laughed into the phone, “Yeah… can you just get your ass over here?”

_“What about the rest of me?”_

Jaime groaned, causing Nate to belly laugh, _“Alright, Jaims… be there soon.”_


	58. Out Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part I of Sandor's punishment. Tee-hee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution for use of some gay slurs, however none are spoken in a hateful context.

_Why did I expect anything else?_

Jaime could now understand how Sansa felt during the KISS concert – she’d won the bet but felt like she was the one receiving the punishment.

They were at _Tory’s_ for Part I of Sandor’s punishment, the punishment that Jaime chose for him, but so far everyone _else_ was having a better time than Jaime… Though that wasn’t entirely accurate… Everyone else was having a better time than Jaime, except Sandor. That was fitting, since it was Sandor’s punishment, it just wasn’t much of a _reward_ for Jaime…

 _Tory’s_ had evolved into a gay bar organically over time. Originally it was just a bar that happened to be owned by a gay man. It was in the early eighties, when there was a still lot of discrimination against what would later be known as the LGBTQ community. To help out his marginalized brethren, Tory exclusively hired gay men to tend bar. As such, the bar garnered a reputation of being queer-friendly even though it never advertised as a quote-unquote gay bar or hosted conspicuously gay events like drag shows or male revues.

From the outside, _Tory’s_ was a humble watering hole. Inside, the first floor had a similar aesthetic: a no-frills bar where straight guys could amble in after a long day at the office, get a Budweiser, and watch a baseball game on the tube. They’d be none-the-wiser that after ten PM, Thursday through Saturday, the vibe was decidedly more exotic. The main floor still functioned as a low-key bar, but the upstairs lounge, which had a luxe vibe, would fill up with a predominantly queer patronage.

The basement was an entirely different matter. It had been renovated into a dancefloor surrounded by leather sofas and small tables scattered in an artfully haphazard manner. There was another bar, smaller than the one on the 1st floor, but frequented by the more conspicuously gay clientele: men who came here to pick up other men; men who came to unabashedly complain about their boyfriends to kindly bartenders; and of course, men who enjoyed letting their _freak_ flag fly in a judgment-free zone. Whether they were always so open or they lived in the closet but day, Jaime didn’t know, but it was fairly easy to tell the men who were well practiced in being themselves versus those who still weren’t used to being “out”.

Jaime had been to _Tory’s_ a few times over the years, but even in seemingly safe places like these he tried not to be a blatant queer. Rather, he donned the role of “open-minded straight friend”, or, on nights that he had more than five drinks, run-of-the-mill bisexual – though he didn’t worry overmuch if some of the other patrons assumed that he was a paminta; after all, you can’t fault someone for being right, and the rule at _Tory’s_ and similar establishments was _what happens at Tory’s stays at Tory’s._

Tonight their group started at the 1st floor bar to ease into things – or, more accurately – to ease _Sandor_ into things. Sansa and Cersei had no problems fitting in anywhere and had a grand old time talking to each other and anyone who would listen. Nate was a regular in the Brooklyn bar, knowing most of the other regulars, and didn’t have to act any way but as himself. Bronn was Bronn no matter where he went. And Jaime was in the closet but knew how to play the part of _straight guy_ well. Tonight he was an open-minded dude who simply appreciated the laid-back atmosphere of the bar, here with his wife and sister and three of his friends, one of whom was gay, one of whom wouldn’t mind fucking Idris Elba, and one of whom was uncomfortable-as-fuck but not here to start any trouble.

There was an unwritten rule at Tory’s that the 1st floor bar was for people who were coming here simply to drink and maybe socialize, but not to look for hookups. They weren’t interested in being propositioned, and some of them weren’t even gay. Jaime imagined some of the men at the bar were confident-in-their-sexuality straights who came here because it was the only decent bar in a five-block radius of their apartment.

But just because they couldn’t touch didn’t mean they couldn’t _look_ … and from the moment their motley group walked in, Jaime noticed what Sandor was willfully oblivious to – that half the guys in this place wanted a piece of him. Actually, they wanted more than one piece. Jaime had grinned victoriously, earning a scowl from Sandor. Then Jaime realized it was the KISS concert all over again. Jaime was Starchild – Paul Stanley. _Everyone loves Paul Stanley,_ he had thought. Yet put his Paul Stanley next to Sandor’s Gene Simmons and suddenly it’s _“Starchild who?”_ With six-foot three inches of lean muscle, Jaime was used to turning heads. But put him next to Sandor’s 6’7” _great-wall-of-muscle_ and Jaime felt like the Danny DeVito to Arnold Schwarzenegger. 

Jaime shook his head. This wasn’t about him. He was here with his beautiful wife to have a good time. He wasn’t here to get hit on. In fact, it would only make things awkward. It was better this way. Or so he kept telling himself.

They spent at least an hour there on the 1st floor, chatting, laughing, and sipping drinks – or in Sandor’s case guzzling them in the hopes of getting drunk enough to stop giving a fuck. Jaime had seen Sandor all kinds of drunk, and he had _never_ stopped giving a fuck, but Jaime was secretly hoping to break that record tonight. Suffice to say if Sandor got so plastered that he let a group of gay men drag him to the dancefloor, Jaime could die happy. Of course, that was _never_ going to happen, so Jaime set his sights lower… if Sandor woke up hungover tomorrow with a phone number written on his hand, Jaime could die happy.

At one point in the evening, Cersei seemed to connect some dots that had been evading her. Her eyes narrowed in curiosity, not judgment, and she looked between Sansa and Jaime. Ultimately, they settled on Sansa, perhaps knowing she was the more guileless of the two, “Do you come here a lot?”

Sansa, who was already on her fourth martini, let out an exaggerated huff, “Lady, if you’re trying to pick me up, you’ll need a better line than that.”

Cersei rolled her eyes and playfully slapped Sansa on the arm, “Bitch.”

“Thank you,” Sansa winked.

This was a new development of the past couple months – Sansa and Cersei graduating from women who treated each other civilly to women who actually enjoyed each other’s company. They were both free spirits, but in very different ways that somehow complemented each other. Cersei was a free spirit in that she was unapologetic and didn’t care what anyone thought about her. Sansa was a free spirit in that she loved to get out there and embrace the world with open arms. She sang and danced like no one was watching, she gave affection freely, and was easy to be around.

Jaime hadn’t come out to Cersei yet, but it was only a matter of time. He and Sansa were strategically guiding her toward the truth. Jaime didn’t hide Nate from her, though he still didn’t kiss or otherwise act amorous toward Nate in her presence. Similarly, Sansa didn’t hide her “friendship” with Sandor, though stopped short of playing tongue hockey with him when Cersei was around. Bronn had kept their secret in that regard, but as he and Cersei seemed to be in a relationship that was more than casual sex, Jaime felt the man didn’t deserve to be made to keep their secrets. Jaime was ready to tell Cersei everything, and at this point was just waiting for the right moment. Tonight felt like it _might_ be the right moment, but tonight was about embarrassing Sandor, and that had to take priority.

They made their way downstairs sometime after hour two and Sansa and Cersei wasted not a minute in heading toward the dancefloor. At _Tory’s_ , men outnumbered women 5:1, and so everyone flocked to the pretty women as soon as they came into view. For a moment Sandor looked like he was going into bodyguard mode, but as he looked around, he seemed to subconsciously pick up on the fact that this was where the _real gays_ were.

Bronn, Jaime, Nate, and Sandor sat down on one of the couches a little further back from the dancefloor where they could actually hear each other if they spoke loud enough.

“Why aren’t you out there?” Jaime asked Nate, nodding his head toward the dancefloor.

Nate rolled his eyes, “Two women and thirty men? No thank you.”

“I thought that’s how you liked it,” Jaime winked.

Nate glared at him, “In the bedroom, not on the dancefloor – and you know that.”

Jaime smiled and dropped his teasing. He _did_ know that Nate preferred dancing with women then men. Jaime was in the same boat. In fact, he was certain he’d never danced with any man except Nate, and that was in Nate’s kitchen.

Bronn turned to Sandor, “Aren’t you afraid Red’s gonna get stolen away?”

Sandor glowered at him, “A) If she’s dancing with other guys, that means she’s _not_ asking me to dance – and I’m trying to keep it that way. B) They’re all fags.” Sandor glanced at Nate, “Sorry, _homosexuals_.” He spoke as if _that_ word was more offensive to him than the word “fag” was to Nate. Oddly, he might be right – Jaime and Nate both subscribed to the philosophy that it is the person’s _intent_ , not their choice of words, that can offend. Sandor fell into the category of ‘I’m not a bigot, I just hate everybody’ – and he resented all forms of political correctness. For some reason, that made his coarse and potentially offensive language forgivable. Jaime knew the man was neither a bigot nor homophobe, and so he could care less what terminology he used. Moreover, he didn’t _really_ hate everybody. There was a short list of people he liked – cared about, even – and Jaime and Nate were on it. That knowledge felt better than winning the lottery – and not just because Jaime was already rich.

“Welp,” Bronn slapped Sandor’s thigh, “I never danced with a guy, I’m going to go see what all the fuss is about.” He shamelessly sauntered to the dancefloor while his three friends laughed at his back. Bronn was a ‘try everything once’ type of fellow, and Jaime sometimes found it hard to believe that he was nearing fifty and had never _tried_ men.

Watching Bronn drew Jaime’s eyes back toward the dance floor where Sansa and Cersei each had their very own pair of men to dirty dance with to _Electric Feel._

Sandor leaned in closer to Jaime and Nate, “They are all gay, right?”

Jaime shrugged, “I can’t _guarantee_ it, but the straights who come here respect the fact that the women who come here do so because they _don’t_ want to be hit on.”

Sandor cocked his head to follow Sansa on the dancefloor, “They better not be straight; that one’s hands are all over her.” He sat forward on the couch, seemingly preparing to run to her rescue. It warmed Jaime’s heart.

Nate leaned across Jaime to speak to Sandor, “That’s Eddy, he’s gayer than a three-dollar bill.”

Sandor nodded as relief visibly washed over him.

Not up for more shouted conversation at the moment, Jaime sat back and nursed his cocktail while watching Sansa and Cersei shamelessly soak up all the male attention they could get. The men who gravitated toward Cersei looked like the types that wouldn’t mind having a _mommy_ instead of a daddy for the night. Knowing Cersei, she wouldn’t mind strapping up and giving them what they wanted. Jaime often suspected that Cersei wished she’d been born with a penis. If she was a dog, she’d be one of those rare female dogs that humps people and other dogs, not for any reproductive reasons but to show who was in charge.

By contrast, the men vying for their turn with Sansa were those that wanted a doll to play with. Jaime could close his eyes and see a horde of queers pampering and primping Sansa in their master bathroom. A man for each foot and hand on buff-and-polish duty. Another doing her hair, another doing her makeup, and an entire team raiding her closet to assemble the perfect outfit. Sansa had the unblemished porcelain skin and baby blue eyes that gay men went gaga over. Her long copper tresses falling in natural waves were every queen’s dream, and if she left here without at least one guy offering her a hefty sum for her ponytail, Jaime would be surprised. Actually, both Cersei and Sansa might get offers for their hair tonight.

Nate rattled the ice cubes in his Tom Collins glass in Sandor’s direction, pulling Jaime from his weird musings. Sandor scowled and grabbed the glass roughly from Nate’s hand.

Earlier today they, had set the ground rules for the punishment. Sandor would not be made to dance with men (or women, for that matter) and would not be made to approach any men in a flirtatious manner. But he _would_ be on drink duty all night, and he couldn’t be mean to any men who hit on him. Nate and Jaime had planned that out ahead of time. Another unwritten rule at Tory’s that applied to the downstairs club – if you were sitting at one of the couches you weren’t inviting anything. You were here with someone, perhaps someone who was on the dancefloor while you sat it out. Or you were here to socialize with your friends and nothing more. But when at the bar or on the dancefloor you were fair game.

Now Jaime only wished he could be a little mouse on Sandor’s shoulder, because while he waited at the bar, seemingly trying to figure out the safest place to put his hands, a twink sidled up next to him, clearly on the hunt for a wolf. Jaime could see the man talking to Sandor, Sandor responding, and the man strutting away gracefully, letting his fingertips drag up the outside of Sandor’s arm and across his shoulder blades as he went.

Sandor turned toward Nate and Jaime with murderous intentions in his eyes, and Jaime didn’t know whether to laugh or run. When a minute later Sandor all but slammed Nate’s drink onto the table and plopped back on the sofa, Jaime opted for the former.

Nate joined in the very vocal amusement while Sandor sipped his scotch and mumbled, “Fucking cunts,” into his glass.

Sansa appeared, breathless and with a very sexy sheen of sweat on her cleavage. Jaime scooted toward Nate to make room but all she did was lean over the table long enough to down Jaime’s gin and tonic, then spin back toward the dancefloor.

Jaime cleared his throat with an “ahem” and shook his empty glass in Sandor’s direction.

Sandor glowered at him again, “You planned this.”

Jaime shrugged, “Uh, yeah. It’s supposed to be a punishment, remember? If all you do is get drunk and watch Sansa shake her ass on the dancefloor, that would be like the _opposite_ of a punishment.”

With a scowl Sandor shot off the couch and had an exact repeat of the encounter from mere minutes ago. Within thirty seconds of arriving at the bar, a slender young man insinuated himself into Sandor’s personal space and said something that made Sandor’s jaw tighten. Sandor shook his head and said something that made the other man chuckle, pat him on the forearm, and leave.

This time there was no debating whether or not to laugh. Jaime and Nate were in hysterics when Cersei plopped on the sofa, “What are you laughing at?”

“Gays _love_ Sandor,” Nate jerked his chin toward the bar, “and it’s making him uncomfortable as fuck.”

Cersei glanced over toward the bar, “Oh yeah?”

Nate nodded, “Oh yeah. Tall, muscular, dark hair, beard – he’s a queer’s dream come true.”

“Hmm… and did you tell him that before he agreed to come out tonight?”

“Nope,” Jaime popped the ‘p’. Cersei didn’t know this was Sandor’s punishment for losing the no-sex challenge, for obvious reasons. She simply thought Sandor somehow got suckered into hanging out at a gay bar with his employers-slash-friends.

Sandor arrived back with four drinks clutched between his big hands – one for himself, one for Nate, and two for Jaime, and a victorious smile on his lips. It would seem he caught on quick and was trying to minimize the number of trips he’d have to make to the bar. But Cersei caught on even quicker. She affixed a pout, “Sandor, can you get me a Tanqueray and soda, please? My feet are killing me.”

He threw his hands up, “Fucking cunts!”

“What?!” Cersei stood up, ready to launch herself at a man who even a wrecking ball would have a hard time budging.

“Not _you_ ,” Sandor waved his hand toward Jaime and Nate, “Them!”

“Oh, okay,” Cersei plopped back down as Sandor turned and stalked off.

By the time Sandor was back with a double for Cersei, Sansa and Bronn had made their way back to the sofa, which wasn’t big enough for all of them.

Sansa plopped herself on Nate’s lap, making him ‘ooph’, which made her swat him.

“What’s the matter, haven’t gotten enough male attention tonight?” Jaime asked her with mock scolding.

“Not even close,” she answered without missing a beat, “I wish I knew years ago that gay bars were so fun. I can dance without any creeps trying to hump me. And _every guy_ I dance with tells me how pretty my hair is. One guy asked if he could take a photo of my nose to show to his plastic surgeon. I mean, this is doing _wonders_ for my self-esteem!”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah, because you’re normally so timid and insecure.”

He was pointedly ignored. Cersei leaned across Jaime so Sansa could hear her, “I know exactly what you mean! Every guy I danced with said something about how good my skin is! And at first, I thought it would bother me to be around a bunch of men who don’t want to fuck me, but it’s actually kind of refreshing!”

Sansa nodded again and inspected the table, “Is my drink still here?”

“Oh fuck no!” Sandor shouted, “I’m not getting another fucking drink. Have one of the members of your fan club buy you one.” He began stomping off before turning and coming back, looking somewhat humbled, “Bronn, I gotta piss. Will you come with me?”

Jaime burst out laughing, “Afraid someone is going to take advantage of you in the bathroom?”

“No,” Sandor crossed his arms, “I mean… I dunno. This is weird. This must be what women feel like all the time.”

Sansa peered up at him in confusion, “Like what?”

Sandor shrugged, “Like you’re going to get raped in the bathroom.”

Sansa hummed, “Yeah, pretty much. Not here though. Wait – are guys hitting on you?”

Jaime didn’t need to see it to know Sandor’s cheeks were aflame. Sansa sprung up, “Oh my god, are they hot?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “No! They’re… _little_.”

Jaime and Nate burst out laughing but Sansa only scrunched her nose, turning to them for explanation. Nate decided to field this one, “They’re twinks – effeminate gays – that are in the market for a daddy.”

“Aww! That’s so cute,” Sansa crossed her hands over her heart.

“No it’s fucking not!” Sandor growled.

His comment was completely disregarded as Sansa smiled up at him, “You should come out to the dancefloor. They will _love_ you.”

“Easy for you to say! The guys slobbering over you are all good-looking. You’re getting the Patrick Swayzes and I’m getting the John Leguizamos!”

Sansa smiled wickedly, “A) When did you watch that movie, because it wasn’t with me… B) Are you _jealous_?”

Everyone waited with bated breath while Sandor stared at the ceiling, his lips set in a frown. Jaime had seen him knock back one whiskey after another all night and was feeling optimistic that this would be the moment – the moment Sandor finally embraced his inner crazy. Nate, Jaime, and Sansa were all transparent with their quirks and kinks. Everyone in their little foursome knew that Jaime wanted to be spooned by Sandor, and that Nate wanted to pop the man’s cherry. Everyone knew that Jaime couldn’t change a flat tire or bake a cake to save his life, and that Sansa had a habit of leaving cups of water all around the house (she agreed with the little girl in _Signs_ that after ten minutes of sitting out, the dust in a glass of water was noticeable in its taste).

They all knew that Sansa had a strange fascination with cock cages and was willing to commit murder if another woman hit on Sandor but found it kind of hot when other women hit on Jaime. They also knew – thanks to a Tequila-induced confession on Cinco de Mayo – that Jaime’s secret fantasy was to fuck Sansa while being fucked by Sandor or Nate. Nate had laughed, patting Jaime on the cheek and saying he didn’t want to be separated from Sansa’s coochie by only the depth of Jaime’s groin region. Sandor had stared wide-eyed at Jaime in horrified speechlessness. Sansa had stared at Jaime with a silent communication of ‘let’s make that dream a reality, hubby’.

They all knew each other’s secrets – the embarrassing things you don’t confess readily – but Sandor remained a mystery to them, and it only deepened his appeal.

And now they were all on tenterhooks – none so much as Jaime – waiting to hear him confess that he _was_ jealous of Sansa for getting hit on by the handsome, strapping gays while he had to settle for skinny little twinks.

“Fine!” he shouted, “Look – I don’t want to be hit on by _anybody_ – but yes, if I _must_ be hit on by someone, I’d rather it be someone good-looking. You happy now?!”

“Yes,” five voices answered in nonchalant harmony.

He turned to leave again only to turn back – again – and grab Bronn by the upper arm so he could watch his six while he stood at the urinal.

…

Sansa hadn’t been this drunk since New Year’s Eve. It wasn’t hard to notice the common denominator was Cersei Lannister. Only tonight Sansa thought she was doing a better job of pacing herself and occasionally taking a water break. Still, she was pretty schnockered and could tell Cersei was in the same shape when, instead of dancing with one of the many nameless gay men, she draped her arms and neck on Sansa’s shoulders and seemed to be trying to take a nap.

“I have to pee _soooo_ bad,” Cersei whispered in her ear in a sultry voice. Sansa laughed and shifted to wrap an arm around Cersei’s waist as, somehow, the two plastered women managed to make their way to the bathroom without falling down – though Sansa suspected they took a circuitous route since it seemed to have taken _forever_ to get there. She wondered if everyone in the bar had spent the past ten minutes watching the pair walk in circles, before remembering that Drunk Sansa didn’t care.

Cersei was teetering precariously on six-inch heels so Sansa navigated her into the handicap stall and stood close enough to catch her should she topple over while trying to pull down her underwear and hike up her skirt. While Cersei sighed and peed Sansa looked around, admiring how spotless the stall was. _Another benefit to coming to a gay bar._

She was in the midst wondering if it was because the gay men who ran the bar were neat freaks like Jaime or whether the women’s room stayed clean because there were so few women here, when Cersei glanced up at her, eyes unfocused though she sounded fully aware of what she was saying, “It doesn’t bother you that Jaime has his boy toy around?”

Sansa was shocked into silence by Cersei’s bold statement, less so by the fact that she’d observed it to begin with, since Jaime had been giving her plenty of hints in hopes of making the big reveal less shocking.

Drunk Sansa was a worse liar than Sober Sansa, because Drunk Sansa didn’t give a fuck about what anyone thought. She shrugged, “Why would I? I get to have my boy toy around.”

Cersei’s head retracted and it took her a long time to realize Sansa’s meaning. Or so Sansa thought, until Cersei scrunched her face up and said, “Huh?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Do you love Jaime?”

Cersee’s head bobbled in something resembling a nod, “I’d kill for that unfairly handsome fucker.”

Sansa smiled, “And nothing will ever change that?”

Cersei shook her head with equal voracity.

“And you can keep a secret from your dad and anyone else that doesn’t need to know?”

Cersei snorted, “Like that Jaime’s bi? Uh yeah; I’ve kept that secret since he was seventeen. Actually earlier than that, since I knew before he did.”

Sansa smiled, “Jaime’s with me _and_ Nate. And I’m with Jaime _and_ Sandor. And we all love each other. And Jaime’s not bi… he’s 85% gay. But I’m not sure how he got to that number, because when we have sex, he doesn’t seem even 1% gay. He really loves my pussy. I mean, as much as Sandor does. But he obviously loves Nate’s cock just as much. So yeah, I guess 85% gay could be right, though between you and I, I think it’s more like 60/40. But whatever. Oh, and we got matching tattoos on our hinies. Of four donuts. Which is us. The four of us. Because we all love each other. And love donuts. And because the earth might be shaped like a donut.”

Cersei was sitting on the toilet, panties at her ankles, staring at Sansa like she had three heads. A little voice told Sansa that she had just fucked up on an astronomical scale – that it should have been Jaime to tell his sister. But once again, Drunk Sansa wasn’t having any of it, “So yeah… that’s that. Oh, by the way, Bronn knows about me and Sandor but doesn’t know about Jaime and Nate. So don’t say anything unless you get permission from Jaime. And don’t tell your dad. He is much cooler now, but still scares the crap out of Jaime. And me. And Sandor. And Nate.”

Sansa stared at Cersei, wondering why she wasn’t saying anything. Was it _that_ much of a surprise? She already knew Jaime to be bi, or something close to it, and she knew Jaime and Sansa’s marriage had been one of financial and political benefits, not love. But she just sat there on the toilet, gawking at Sansa like this was the biggest shock in history.

Finally, Cersei spoke, “Why didn’t he tell me?” Her voice sounded fragile, wounded. Not angry, not accusatory.

Sansa shrugged, “Probably because he didn’t want you to have to keep the secret from your dad… and Robert… and Joffrey.”

Cersei was shaking her head subtly, “He tells me _everything_. I tell _him_ everything.”

“Um, I think he wanted to tell you. He was planning on telling you soon, actually. I guess I beat him to it. Because I’m drunk. And he might be mad. What does Jaime even look like when he’s mad?”

“Poor Jaime!” Cersei quickly wiped and yanked up her panties, the truth about her brother seemingly sobering her as she did an admirable job of making her way back toward their sofa, with Sansa close behind her, even though her ankles looked like twigs about to snap.

Cersei threw herself down on Jaime’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and peppering his cheeks with loving kisses, “I’m so sorry, Jai-Jai.”

Jaime looked to Sansa in confusion. She could only blush in response.

Cersei pulled away, “I’m so sorry that I became someone you didn’t think you could trust with the truth.”

“Uh, what truth?” Jaime asked, the panic evident in his tone.

Sansa sighed and discreetly took Sandor’s hand by way of answering. Sandor looked at their joined hands, then at Cersei, then at Jaime, then at Sansa, and back to their hands.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cersei continued, “You’re my brother and I love you and I want you to be able to tell me anything just like we used to! Remember how I told you the first time I had an orgasm during sex? And you told me the first time you sucked a guy off?”

Jaime sat forward, almost spilling Cersei to the ground. He turned to face Sansa, “You told her?!”

“Hey!” Cersei tugged roughly at Jaime’s cheek, so he was looking at her again, “Don’t you dare blame Sansa. I love that bitch and so do you. And so does Sandor, apparently. And it’s all good, Jaime. In fact, it’s kind of what I wanted for you.”

“You wanted me to be in a weird four-way relationship?”

Cersei rolled her eyes, “No! When Daddy first told me of his plan for you and Sansa, I thought it would be good for you. It was a marriage of convenience, so I figured Sansa might be okay with you, ya know, having your cake and eating it too. And I’m not stupid; this is the 21st century, that would mean it’s only fair that Sansa would have _her_ cake and eat it too. I didn’t know that Sandor would be her cake, but it kinda works.” Her eyes drifted to Sandor then, as if only now noticing he was a _person_ and not a big robot that could drive cars and deliver drinks. Her eyes scanned down his body and then looked back at Sansa with a shrug that said, ‘I get it’.

“So you’re not going to tell Dad?” Jaime asked, hopefulness starting to shine through.

Cersei let out a prolonged sarcastic cackle, “Jaime, if I tell Daddy, it’s either going to give him another heart attack or cement the fact that you can do no wrong in his eyes. I don’t want either of those things to happen, so no, I’ll keep my mouth shut… as always.”

Bronn, a silent observer for most of this, shoved himself on the sofa between Nate and Jaime, which was only possible because Sandor stood up with a huff. He stood behind Sansa, his forearms draped on her shoulders, and even Drunk Sansa knew it was kind of a big deal. They were in public, after all. In fact, at this point she was simply hoping that Jaime was sober enough to know if anything they were doing was a bad idea, but since he hadn’t objected so far, she wouldn’t either.

_Let the whole world see! I don’t care!_

_You’ll care tomorrow._

_Shut up, bitch – that’s tomorrow’s problem._

Bronn smirked, “You know, I thought you two might be fucking, but I wasn’t sure and didn’t think it was polite to ask…”

Jaime rolled his eyes at Bronn’s matter-of-fact appraisal.

“…But now that the cat’s out of the bag, I want the truth: if you had to fuck either me or the big guy, which one would it be?”

When both Jaime and Nate immediately pointed toward Sandor, Bronn sprung up from the sofa, “What?! He’s a fucking grump all the time!”

Nate shrugged, “What can we say? We’re queers, we like big and bad.”

“Hah, hah, hah,” Sandor pointed at Bronn and gloated while Cersei rolled her eyes at Bronn’s pout.

Bronn looked at Sansa, “You’d fuck me, right Red? I mean, if you weren’t already fucking Beauty and the Beast.”

Sansa chuckled, “Well… I mean…” Bronn’s face looked so defeated that she immediately felt horrible. “I mean, if we were the only two people on an island with no chance of rescue, then yes.”

Jaime, Nate, and Sandor laughed, thinking back to their first ‘Perfect Weekend’ together last Labor Day.

“Don’t take it personally,” Sansa tried to appease him some more, “I _would_ fuck you, it’s just that Cersei seems like she’d be a tough act to follow.”

Cersei grinned proudly and Bronn pulled her over to his lap, “Damn straight she is.”

Free from his sister’s weight, Jaime rose and stood in front of Sansa, “So… anything you want to tell me?”

“Yeah, so Drunk Sansa _may_ have told your sister about our four-way relationship. I tried to stop her, but the bitch doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.”

Jaime nodded, pretending to be mad, “Clearly…”

“But then again…” Sansa tapped her lips in feigned contemplation, “Drunk Sansa is also _really_ slutty… I mean, that chick doesn’t say ‘no’ to _anything_.”

 _“Anything?”_ he raised an eyebrow and looked between Sansa and Sandor repeatedly.

Sandor snorted behind her, “Not enough whiskey in the world, Lannister. But I’ll tell you what – if we’re ever alone on a desert island, or some deranged killer has a gun to my head, then I’ll fuck you.”

Jaime grinned mischievously, “Shake on it?”


	59. That Life

“Oh my God! There are two Nates!”

Sansa was giddier than a kid on the last day of school. It was Labor Day weekend and while another Perfect Weekend was planned for just the four of them, Nate’s younger brother Nick had dropped by for a couple hours on Saturday afternoon as he was in the area anyway for a friend’s party.

Sandor couldn’t disagree with Sansa – Nick was four years younger than Nate but looked like his twin. Sansa was presently inspecting him like a horse at auction, noting all the similarities between he and his big brother. She almost went so far as prying open his jaw so she could check out his chompers.

“I will call you _Straight Nate_ ,” she stated with a conclusive nod, then pulled him to sit down next to her on one of the outdoor settees. “Now, tell me every embarrassing thing that Nate has ever done.”

Nick chuckled, “Then I’ll be here until Thursday, and I’m afraid I have a party to get to.”

“Fine, fine,” Sansa waved. “Then tell me about yourself. Nate says you’re an electrician?”

Nick nodded, “Yeah. After my last tour I went to school for that. Now I work for a company that does electric work, mainly new construction.”

“Oh right, you were in the army. So was Sandor,” she nodded toward him, “but you guys will have to talk about that another time, I have too many questions for you.”

Sandor tried to pass the guy a sympathetic look but he seemed entertained by Sansa more than anything.

“Alright, shoot,” Nick shrugged.

“Well, when did you first realize that Nate is the most awesome person in the world?”

Nick threw his head back and laughed, “What are you, his _groupie_? He’s not even the most awesome person in our _family_!”

“Well who’s that?”

“Uh, me… _Duh_ ”

Sansa swatted his forearm, “Alright, alright. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Why, two men not enough for you?”

Sansa’s mouth dropped but she looked more amused than insulted, “You are just as bad as your big sister.”

“I don’t have a big sister.”

“She means Nate,” Jaime rolled his eyes.

“Are you saying that Nate and I are both bitchy?”

“Yes, was I too subtle?”

Nick shook his head, “ _Anyway_ … yes I have a girlfriend. Daniella. Well, she’s sort-of my girlfriend…”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, we started hooking up around Thanksgiving, and it got kind of serious, which was a first for me, but I felt like we needed to slow down a bit… so we’re keeping it casual.”

“And she doesn’t think you should?”

Nick shrugged, “No.”

“Well you should listen to her, Nick. Women can do no wrong, don’t you know that?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Anyone who believes that has never seen Sansa try to fold a fitted sheet.”

She turned to him, looking betrayed, “I can too fold a fitted sheet!”

“Oh please! You give up after like six seconds and just roll it into a big ball.”

Sansa turned back to Nick, “Ignore him. Jaime’s OCD is rubbing off on him.”

Nate perked up, “What’s Jaime rubbing on Sandor?”

“Oh fuck off!” Sandor threw his arms up.

Nick was grasping his stomach from laughing so hard, “Oh my God, you guys should be in a reality TV show. This is comedy _gold_. And there is someone for everyone to relate to!”

Sansa’s mouth went open, “Oh my God, Jaime, we should totally do that! Can you call somebody?! Ooh, ooh, could Tyrion help?”

Sandor scowled, “I don’t want a fucking camera in my face all day long. If you do that, I’m moving out.”

Sansa pouted, “What if it’s only for a couple months?”

“Don’t care. I don’t have a face for television.”

Nate scoffed, “Just walk around shirtless; no one will be looking at your face.”

Nick looked at Sandor in bewilderment, “You’re cool with all this?”

“No, but I don’t have a choice. These fuckers are relentless… As punishment for losing a challenge they brought me to a gay bar. It was awful.”

“Did you get hit on?”

“Yes! By like every fucking dude there. Every time I went to the bar one would swoop in like a vulture waiting for the rabbit to die.”

Nick shrugged, “Well if I were you, I’d take it as a compliment.”

Sandor let out an ambiguous groan. It actually had been kind of flattering, but also gross, so it was hard to tell how he really felt about it.

Sansa huffed, “Can we get back to the important stuff here?”

“San, stop interrogating the poor man or he’s never going to come back!” Jaime looked at her with scolding eyes.

“Who wouldn’t want to be around us? We’re funny and adorable.”

Nick was cracking up again, “Seriously guys – if you don’t want to be reality TV stars, then sell this plot to a TV network.”

“Ooh… we should sell it to one of the premium channels so there will be lots of sex scenes! I wonder who they’ll get to play me…” Sansa tapped her lips.

“Ooh!” Nate’s knees pumped up and down, “We need Alexander Skarsgard to play Jaime.”

Sansa winced, “Yeah, but he only looks good from certain angles. What about Jude Law?”

“I dunno, he’s pretty famous; not sure we’d be able to get him.”

“Natey Cakes this is all for fun.”

“Okay, okay… then what about Ryan Gosling?”

Sansa glared at him, “Nate, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“What’s wrong with Ryan Gosling?” Nick asked.

“His eyes are too small and too close together,” Nate, Sandor, and Jaime responded in perfect harmony.

Sansa beamed at them, “I have you boys trained so well… Anyway, let’s settle on Jude Law for now, we can—”

“Oh my God, kitten, I got it!”

“Who, who?”

“Michael Fassbender!!”

“Ahh!!! Nate that’s perfect! Sandor, isn’t that _perfect?”_ she wiggled her eyebrows.

He let out a groan as he plopped down beside Jaime, “I don’t know why I ever tell you guys anything.”

“Alright, alright,” Nate waved him off, “Let’s do Sandor now.”

“I’m game!” Sansa smiled wickedly.

“Keep it in your pants, kitten, we have company over.”

Sansa turned to Nick and offered a sheepish smile to which he shook his head, “Don’t let me stop you – this is free entertainment for me.”

“Alright, so I don’t even think there is anything to discuss… it’s gotta be Joe Manganiello, right?” Nate asked.

“Got my vote!” Jaime piped up.

Sansa scrunched her lips, “Look, you know I want to climb Mount Joe, but Jason Momoa has really been doing it for me lately.”

Nate teetered his hand, “Yeah, but Joe has those sultry eyes and the bump in his nose.”

“Hey, what about that hottie from _The Age of Adaline_?”

Nate hummed, “That’s definitely an option. And he has a great beard… but all those guys do.”

“Yeah… maybe you’re right; we should stick with Joe, after all he’s tall like Sandor.”

“Okay, so we got two characters cast. Now what about me?”

“Way ahead of you, Natey Cakes. I’ve got the perfect you: Danny Pino from SVU. He’s good looking, tall, slender but not skinny, and he has a really kind face.”

Nate put his hands over his heart, “Kitten, I love you.”

Sandor groaned, “You two are smoking crack. If Nate is an actor from a cop drama, it’s totally that guy from _CSI: Miami_.”

“Oh,” Nate sat up straighter, “I think I know the one you’re talking about… yeah, he’s doable.”

Nick was swiping on his phone, “Adam Rodriguez… he’s a good-looking dude, but I think Danny Pino from SVU is a better fit.”

As Sansa threw her hands up in victory Sandor rumbled, “Dude, don’t tell them what guys you think are good-looking. They’ll never let you live it down. Like, _ever_. That’s why they cast Michael Fassbender as Jaime, just to fuck with me.”

“Oh calm down, you big sexy teddy bear,” Sansa waved away Sandor’s concern, “It seems to me there is a certain fun and flirty redhead we need to cast now.”

“Jessica Chastain,” Sandor blurted out.

Sansa’s smile dropped away and she sent Sandor her best death-stare. When he only laughed, she stood up and stomped over to him, “Take it back!”

“Nope.”

“You take it back!”

“You’re really cute when you want to murder me, you know that?”

“What’s wrong with Jessica Chastain?” Nick asked, “I think she’s hot.”

Sansa huffed, “Ugh! I’ll admit she’s got great tits, but it ends there.”

“Shall I take this one?” Jaime sat forward, looking at Nate and Sandor who nodded their agreement, “Her eyebrows are too close to her eyes, her hair is too orange, and she has too many teeth. Sansa’s words, not ours.”

“Wow, that’s… _really_ mean,” Nick’s eyes widened.

Sansa crossed her arms, “Hey, this is a safe place for being mean and shallow and judgmental – but only about people outside our foursome, and for today fivesome.”

“Whatever, I didn’t say it was a _bad_ thing,” Nick grinned, “Anyway, how about that lady from Jurassic World?”

Jaime shook his head, “No way – her eyes give me the creeps. What about Amy Adams?”

Sandor pursed his lips in thought, “That the chick from Superman? Nah, her nose it too pointy. How about the chick from Zombieland?”

“Nah, too girl-next-door,” Nate stated with finality.

Nick snapped, “I’ve got it – the chick who’s married to Borat.”

Sansa sat forward, “Oh yeah! Isla Fisher, she’s really pretty, and she seems like she’d be fun to hang out with.”

“She’s kind of short, isn’t she?” Jaime asked.

Sansa shrugged, “That’s okay, I’ve always wanted to be shorter. Besides, that’ll make it even funnier when her and Joe Manganiello have scenes together.”

Everyone nodded their agreement, but it was clear that Sansa was having too much fun to stop now, “We should also cast Cersei and Bronn and Papa Lion.”

Jaime visibly cringed at the pet name Sansa had adopted for his father. Sandor reveled in the man’s discomfort.

Nate nodded, “Charlize Theron for Cersei. She can be fun, but man can she pull off a bitch face like nobody’s busines.”

“You know what Natey Cakes? I think you nailed it on the first try.”

“That’s what Jaime said,” Nate winked scandalously.

Jaime ignored him, pursing his lips in thought, “Bronn is tough because you can’t tell whether he’s good looking or not.”

Sansa nodded, “Yeah… I feel that way about Benicio del Toro, so that could be an option.”

“Yeah, and Sean Penn,” Nate added.

Sandor nodded, “Oh and Sean Penn has that broken nose look just like Bronn.”

“Wait,” Sansa held her hands out, “Weren’t Sean Penn and Charlize Theron together at some point?”

Nate nodded eagerly, “Oh yeah, I forgot about that! Ok, that settles it!”

“Perfect,” Sansa rubbed her hands together, “We’ve saved the best for lack.”

Jaime stood up with a huff, “I’m not sure I want to be here for this.”

Sandor grabbed his forearm, “Sit down, Lannister. You know you’re curious in a perverse kind of way.”

Jaime grinned and sat back down, “You know me so well.”

Sansa placed her hands on her knees and took a deep breath to steady herself, “Okay, my first candidate is Pierce Brosnan.”

“ _Way_ too sexy, kitten. Try again.”

“Okay, Kevin Costner?”

Nate rolled his eyes, “You’re going the wrong direction.”

“Alright, um… Bruce Springsteen?”

Sandor laughed, “Are you just naming every old dude that you think is hot?”

“No!” Sansa said, a little too defensively.

“Wait – I think I’ve got it,” Jaime interjected, “So this guy isn’t really _hot_ , in my opinion, but he has a commanding presence, which is what Sansa finds…” Jaime cringed, “ _sexy_ about my dad.”

“Wait!” Nick held his hands out, “Your wife has the hots for your dad?”

“Ugh! I don’t have the _hots_ for him, I just think he’s…”

“ _Hot_?” Sandor asked with one eyebrow raised.

Sansa glared daggers at him, and he was decent enough to act intimidated this time.

“He is _regal_ , alright? It’s in the eyes and the way he carries himself. Oh and his voice, too. And his jaw – I mean, that Lannister jawline should be on the menu at every plastic surgeon’s office,” Sansa smiled at Jaime.

Jaime rolled his eyes, “ _Anyway!!_ I was going to say Liam Neeson.”

“Good one, Jaims.”

Sansa pondered it for a bit before shrugging, “Yeah, I’d do him, in a pinch.”

Jaime buried his face in his hands and let out a groan that sounded something like a dying animal.

…

By the time Nick left it was after four o’clock and time to start making dinner. Though more accurately, that meant Sandor and Jaime making dinner while Nate and Sansa danced poolside to today’s featured artist – Michael Jackson.

Sandor’s planned menu was surf-n-turf. He’d sear up some scallops and shrimp in a butter wine sauce to serve over filet mignon for Nate and Sansa and a couple nice porterhouses for he and Jaime. He laughed when he recalled Sansa recently trying to finish off a porterhouse only to throw her arms up in defeat and declare it was “too much meat” for her. Needless to say, the men mocked her shamelessly the rest of the night with progressively raunchy jokes about how much meat she could handle.

“You ready for the shallots?” Jaime practically shouted to be heard over _Billy Jean._

Sandor nodded – opting for nonverbal communication.

Jaime returned a few minutes later with the shallots, garlic, and all the veggies they’d sauté on the flat top grill. After handing them off to Sandor’s care he crossed his arms and leaned back, “Life’s good, isn’t it?”

Sandor shrugged, “I guess.”

Jaime’s face became serious, “What’s wrong?”

“What? I said, ‘I guess’.”

“Well that doesn’t sound like much of an agreement.”

“Lannister, it’s me you’re talking to.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Sandor sighed and took a sip of beer, “So what’s got you in such a good mood, anyway?”

Jaime shrugged, “I’m doing work I’m proud of – both at Casterly and SAIME – I love my wife, I love my boyfriend, I love my wife’s other husband… Shit’s just good, ya know.”

Sandor nodded. He wasn’t an effusive type, but things were actually pretty freaking good. Jaime had been opening up to more and more people. Like ivy spreading in any direction it found shade, Jaime and Sansa were gradually revealing their lifestyle to whomever they viewed as safe confidantes. Bronn had been the first to learn about Jaime and Sansa’s open marriage and Sandor’s relationship with Sansa. Then Tommen and Tyrion were brought in on the full truth, then Cersei and Bronn, then Myrcella and Brienne, and now Nate’s brother Nick. Sansa had also told Mya, but Sandor suspected it was only to make her friend jealous. And imagine that – Mya jealous because Sandor belonged to Sansa. There were not one but two beautiful women in the world who thought he was a catch, not to mention an entire bar full of gay men. It was laughable, but he’d take the self esteem boost wherever he could get it.

So yes, life was good for Sandor too, because each person that found out the truth was another person Sandor could be himself around, at least in regards his feelings for Sansa. He could put his arms around her, call her ‘babe’, or tease her about things that only a lover should know.

As for the rest of the world, Jaime and Sansa were living by a rule of not going out of their way to hide it, but not going out of their way to reveal it, either. At this point Sandor was pretty certain the only reason Jaime hadn’t shouted it from the rooftops was because of his father and Sansa’s family.

Sansa had agonized over whether or not to tell her mom and dad. Whereas, in Jaime’s case, the decision to keep it from his dad was because of the _gay_ aspect, keeping it from her parents was because of the _open marriage_ aspect. Her parents had been high school sweethearts and Sansa highly doubted either had ever been with anyone else, sexually speaking. They were the image of happy monogamy and Sansa feared her parents would see her as some type of loose woman, were she to admit to sleeping with two men on a regular basis.

Jaime was accepting of her decision, but encouraged her to think of herself as _duogamous_ , not polyamorous. He himself had officially committed to duogamy. He and Nate’s once open relationship had changed. Jaime now had two exclusive relationships: Sansa and Nate. Just like Sansa had two exclusive relationships: Sandor and Jaime. Nate and Sandor each had one exclusive relationship and didn’t feel cheated in any way. Sandor didn’t want another woman, and he certainly didn’t want a man. He didn’t consider their few threesome-ish encounters to be a reflection of him and Jaime having any type of sexual relationship. They hadn’t kissed, they hadn’t touched each other’s cocks, and any physical contact at all had been incidental.

Having said that, Sandor wasn’t as repulsed by the idea as he once would have been. He doubted he’d _ever_ want anything to do with Jaime’s cock, but if the dude got some kick out of doing something to him then _maybe_ – under the right circumstances and at the right level of inebriation – he’d allow it. But only if Sansa were there; he wasn’t sure he could get or maintain an erection without stimulus of the feminine variety.

He wouldn’t even be examining this topic if it weren’t that he still had to pay up on his second punishment for losing the no-sex challenge. Sometime in the near future Sansa would squish his cock into a little cage (well, not so _little,_ in his case, heh) and then have relations with Jaime while Sandor was made to watch. If he knew Sansa and Jaime, they were already planning the _encounter_ – probably fucking rehearsing it – to maximize the amount of sexual torture Sandor would endure. Sansa would probably wear something really kinky – perhaps fishnet stockings and a garter belt with a bustier (yes, he knew what that was). She and Jaime would then perform all of Sandor’s favorites. Sixty-nine, doggy style, him-standing-her-kneeling blow job, Sansa’s ankles on his shoulders… _Fuck, they’re **all** my favorites._

But he also knew them well enough to know they’d see this as an opportunity for another threesome. Sandor would put money on Sansa letting his cock out on early parole, but only if he agreed to abide by her strict rules. If Sandor knew _himself,_ he knew there wasn’t much he’d say ‘no’ to by that point.

“Dude, you’re burning the steaks.”

“Fuck,” Sandor grumbled. He quickly used the tongs to remove the steaks from the grill. They weren’t truly burnt, just closer to medium-well than medium judging by the amount and color of juice seeping out.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just… lost in thought.”

Jaime hummed, “Nice trip?”

Sandor snorted, and gestured toward Sansa who had apparently abandoned MJ and was now attempting to swing dance with Nate. He didn’t bother fighting the grin, “Very nice trip.”

…

“I’ve been fleeced,” Sandor groaned as he took off his second sock and sat in nothing but his boxers, “And for the record, we all should have started with the same number of clothing articles.” He scowled at Lannister – who had worn an undershirt and belt today for reasons Sandor was now skeptical of, as they were playing strip poker at Jaime’s insistence that they find a game they could beat Sansa at.

Jaime rolled his eyes, “We _were_ even. I didn’t have socks on.”

“Well Nate did! Besides, the bigger fucking issue is how the hell Sansa can win at poker when she can’t lie without her voice squeaking and her cheeks turning crimson.”

Nate narrowed his eyes, “It _is_ pretty suspicious. My theory is that it’s part of her strange superpower to win board games. Poker must somehow fall under that umbrella.”

“Guys,” she tsked, “I lost to Jaime at _Chutes and Ladders_ , remember?”

Jaime snorted, “Which we only played because it involves _no_ _skill_ whatsoever and we needed to determine whether your board game abilities truly are skill or some strange luck.”

“I also lost to Sandor at _Memory!_ That takes skill!”

“A different _kind_ of skill,” Sandor huffed. He’d never been one to play boardgames – his childhood didn’t involve many ‘family fun nights’ – unless getting drunk and shooting empty beer cans counted. But he liked to think he had above-average intelligence and strategizing ability, which ought to lend themselves to most boardgames. But the list of games that Sansa was freakishly good at winning had grown to include: _Monopoloy, Scrabble, Chinese Checkers, Risk, Dominoes, Clue, Life, Sorry, and Battleship._ Yes, _Battleship_. The literal guessing game – she won every time and yet none of them could detect any repeating pattern to her guesses. In fact, she didn’t take the diagonal approach that Sandor had always believed was the trick to winning the game. She’d call out random coordinates while filing her nails or scrolling through her Twitter feed and _boom!_ Sunken battleship.

And don’t even get him started on _Clue._ She went beyond noting down the people, places, and things that were revealed to her directly to studying the facial expressions of her opponents when cards were revealed to them. Sandor would swear to his dying day that when Nate showed him _Miss Scarlet,_ Sansa picked up on it via psychic wavelength. Or perhaps his pupils dilated fractionally because – let’s face it – _Miss Scarlet_ is pretty hot for a cartoon woman. A distant second to _Jessica Rabbit_ , but still.

Sansa also introduced them all to a bunch of card games as well – ones she’d played with her family growing up – and she won all those, too.

But poker was Sandor’s game. His regular face _was_ his poker face. He’d played in the army all the time and won way more often than he lost. But now he was sitting in nothing but his boxer briefs on a Sunday night while Sansa still had on shorts, one flip-flop, her bra, and presumably panties.

Jaime had lost his shirt, undershirt, belt, and both loafers and was down to shorts and presumably underwear. Nate fared better than Jaime by one sock.

Sandor folded the next hand, a two and a nine unsuited, with a huff. To keep the game honest a player had to put a dollar chip into the pot every time they folded.

As he threw his cards down, he grumbled, “I don’t care if you call me a sore loser; I am not going to sit out here naked so the mosquitoes can bite my balls.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “I lit the citronella candle for you, stop complaining.”

“That citronella ain’t doing shit; I look like I have AIDS scabs all over my legs.”

“Well that’s because you’re so delicious that all the little buggies want a taste.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, refusing to be moved by her cuteness during this degrading moment.

Sansa lost that hand and had to take off her other flip-flop. Sandor beamed at her smugly and high-fived Lannister who won the pot.

“So I’ve been thinking…” Jaime started.

When no one asked him to elaborate he huffed, “You know how much fun we all had on that island for our anniversary weekend?”

Everyone nodded.

“Well, what if we bought a vacation place? Someplace really secluded like that…”

Sansa chuckled, “It’s pretty secluded here, hubby, as evidenced by the fact that we’re playing strip poker on the patio.”

Jaime shrugged, “Well maybe somewhere _different_ then. Down south, a place to go during winter. Maybe with a private beach?”

Nate nodded, “I think that sounds awesome. It would be nice to be able to work on my tan during winter without having to go to a tanning booth – you know how they give me the creeps.”

Sandor shrugged, “I’m game, not that my vote should count. That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Lannister. I kinda feel weird that you still pay me to be a bodyguard when—”

“Wait,” Jaime held his hand in the air, “What do you mean your vote shouldn’t count?”

Sandor shrugged, “Well, I mean… it’ll be _your_ house. You and Sansa are the married ones. I mean, _legally_ married.”

“No, this will be _our_ house.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “That _you’ll_ pay for.”

Jaime lifted his hands, “What does _that_ have to do with anything? You’re my family. _All_ of you. It’ll be a place for all of us; it’ll _belong_ to all of us. And what were you going to say about me paying you? That it makes you feel weird?”

“Well, kinda, yeah. I mean over a year ago your reasoning was that you’d be traveling a lot for work, possibly spending a big portion of your time in D.C., and you didn’t want your wife to be unprotected while you were away. But clearly that hasn’t all come to be the case, so you don’t need to pay me. What I’m saying is, if you feel obligated, you don’t—”

“Sandor,” Jaime reached across the table and took his hand. It was weird that it didn’t feel weird. “You may not be Sansa’s bodyguard, but the reality is you do and you would keep her safe. Do I need to remind you that Joffrey is just one bad decision from showing up here again? And besides that you do so many other things that go beyond anything I would have ever asked of you. I mean I haven’t had to pay landscapers or handymen in over a year. I haven’t had to cook my own meals or do my own grocery shopping or wash my own clothes.”

Sandor shrugged, “Sansa does some of those things.”

Jaime nodded, “I know. And she also works at SAIME, and you help out with that, too. And you’ve been donating your time to YouthBuild. It’s not like you’re sitting on your ass all day eating bon-bons.”

“Right, but I could also be out working. You don’t have to pay me to do things I’d do anyway, at any house I lived at.”

Jaime pulled his hand away and crossed his arms, “Well maybe I don’t want you to work.” He spoke resolutely but there was a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

Sandor glanced at Sansa and Nate, but both looked as confused as he felt. Sandor held his palms up in surrender, “Right, whatever. We can talk about it another time. I didn’t mean to interrupt your vacation house discussion.”

Sansa nodded, a look of relief washing over her, “Yeah. So Jaime, where were you thinking of looking for a place? Florida perhaps? Or an island?”

“Look,” Jaime leaned forward, locking eyes with Sandor, “I’ve never shared my financial details with you, but I’m basically set for life. I could have lived very comfortably off my trust fund if I wanted to, but I didn’t. I _need_ to work; I need a mental outlet or else I go crazy…” He turned toward Nate who gave a small chuckle while nodding in confirmation.

“And I’m also old fashioned. You want to know the fantasy I’ve always had? That is, when I allowed myself to entertain it?”

Sandor shrugged.

Jaime glanced up at the sky, “I want what my dad had. Before my mom died, that is. I want to come in tired after a long day at work and be greeted by the sounds of kids running around and giggling while my partner half-heartedly scolds them for eating cookies before dinner. I want to be greeted with a kiss on the cheek by someone happily wearing a spaghetti sauce splattered apron. I want to hear _‘Dinner’s in ten, hubby, go take a load off’._ I want to sit in a den while my kids assault me with the stories of the day. Getting an A on the reading test. Winning at dodgeball. Swinging higher than they’ve ever swung before on the playground.”

Sandor shrugged again, “That’s nice, man, but what does it have to do with me?”

Jaime gave a sheepish smile, “Because that fantasy _used_ to feature a blurry, faceless partner. I was afraid to let myself picture a man there, because that felt like wanting something that would never be. But picturing a woman left something to be desired. But after you and Sansa moved in, that fantasy started changing. It became really crisp. I came home to the sound of those same children playing and giggling in the den while your deep voice married with Sansa’s dulcet in the kitchen, while you joked and teased each other. I’d be greeted by _two_ sauce covered aprons. One worn by a woman that would beam at me and tell me to go spend time with my kids before dinner; the other worn by a man that would offer me his trademark half smile and a nod that says, ‘I’m happy to see you even if I’ll never say it’.”

Sandor rolled his eyes but actually felt flattered by Jaime’s admission. He never doubted it when Jaime included him categorically as ‘family’ or claimed to love him, but he always thought it was different than the way he loved other people in his life: Sansa, Nate, Cersei, Tyrion. He figured Jaime chose to embrace him in his life for Sansa’s sake. But to hear that Sandor was a central figure in Jaime’s ideal life? Well fuck if Sandor Clegane wasn’t going soft, because his heart was swelling and his nose was tingling.

“And,” Jaime continued with a smile shot in Nate’s direction, “when the four of us clicked so well together, that fantasy changed _again_. Now it’s Nate and I coming home to a houseful of kids after a long day of work. Now some of those kids have blond hair and fair skin while others have a darker, almost Hispanic complexion. And maybe one or two are ridiculously tall for their age. But truthfully, that’s not the important part. In that original fantasy the kids were crisp and clear. Blond hair, green eyed spitting images of their father. It was the partner that was blurry. Now the _partners_ are crisp and clear – the three of _you_. And it matters less whether the kids have blond hair, black hair, or red hair. Whether they’re tan or fair; blue-eyed, green-eyed, brown-eyed, or gray-eyed. What’s important is that they’re happy and they’re loved, and that the four of us are happy and loved.” Jaime shook his head with a chuckle, “Nate and I walk into the kitchen. Sansa feeds me sauce off a wooden spoon then follows it up with a kiss. Nate teases you about looking sexy in an apron, and you just roll your eyes. Nate and I go to the den together to hear about test grades and dodgeball and playground antics. Then all of us sit at a big table as one big, annoyingly happy family.”

Sandor shook his head slightly, in surprise rather than disapproval. He smiled at Jaime, making a point to offer something that was closer to three-quarters than half, “Sounds good, man – except for one thing.”

Jaime’s brows creased, “What?”

“I’m not wearing a fucking apron.”

Jaime let out an exaggerated sigh of disapproval, “What about on my birthday?”

Sandor groaned, “Fine; on your birthday, I’ll wear an apron.”

“Will it say ‘kiss the cook?’” Nate grinned devilishly.

“No that one’s for _your_ birthday.”

Nate’s eyes went wide milliseconds before he howled with laughter. Jaime acted highly offended before he, too, succumbed to laughter.

Everyone laughed well and thoroughly, but once the laughter faded to chuckles and the chuckles faded to smiles, Sandor had a realization, “Wait, Lannister – in that fantasy, I’m like… your _househusband_.”

Jaime shrugged, “Well we don’t have to _call_ you that.”

Sandor felt his eyes go wide, “Why can’t Nate be your househusband? Actually no – he and Sansa will be the housewives and you and I will work. We’ll be the ones who come home tired and get greeted with spaghetti sauce kisses then go sit in the den and hear about grades and dodgeball and swings.”

Jaime rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “The fantasy is built around what fulfills each of us. I need to have a mental outlet as well as that adrenaline rush of a high-pressure job with deadlines and shareholders and my father. That’s what does it for me, strange as it sounds. Similarly, Nate needs an artistic outlet. Designing ads, not to mention his painting. Sansa needs a social outlet – people to talk to other than us. That’s why she does good work with fundraising for SAIME. It’s not that I _need_ her to have a job. In fact, in my fantasy she _doesn’t_ have a job. But you – out of all of us you’re the most physical one. Dude, I saw how unhappy you looked standing around watching over my dad and later Cersei and Joffrey. It was fucking torture for you. But now that you have a variety of things to do, you seem so much happier. And I don’t just mean the projects you help with at YouthBuild. Shit as simple as mowing the grass, doing laundry, cooking dinner, changing the air filter for the A/C. God, when you were snow blowing the driveway back in February you looked like you were in heaven! And that shit is a full-time job, especially if someday it’s the four of us plus a kid, or six, as one big family. In fact, it's the most important job, because as I’ve already established, I don’t need any more money. I don’t need you to get a job so you can chip in on expenses. What I need is to come home every night to my SanSan!”

Sandor arched an eyebrow, “Your SanSan?”

Jaime blushed and shrugged, “For now. Someday it’ll be Sansanate.”

“Wow,” Nate grinned, “Sounds badass… like ‘don’t mess with us or you’ll get Sansanated’.”

While Nate and Jaime giggled over different ways to use _Sansanate_ – some verb, some noun, some adjective – Sansa slipped over to Sandor’s lap and ran a hand through his hair. He noticed her eyes were sparkly with tears.

“What’s wro—” His question was silenced by her lips, sweet and soft and clearly trying to offer something she thought he needed.

She pulled back and spoke in a whisper that only he could hear, “Could you be happy in that life?”

His instinct was to say “yes” without pause; after all, he felt fairly certain he’d be happy as long as he had Sansa. But then he thought back to what his own hopes and dreams had been – and found there was nothing to call on. He had never bothered with fantasies about the future because the future promised to be as bleak as the past.

But that was before a spunky redhead crash-landed in his life. Now the future looked bright and promising. Now the idea of having a wife and kids didn’t seem like a good way to set some poor woman and children up for disappointment. Now it seemed _natural_. It seemed like the next logical step.

_When did that happen?_

He chuckled to himself, no doubt confusing Sansa. He knew _exactly_ when it happened. It was on the beach in Costa Rica, when Sansa tied seaweed around his finger, and a half hour later when she shared her good news with Jaime and Nate by phone. Jaime had thrown out the idea of Sansa having kids with all three men and living like a rich, modern Brady Bunch.

And what would have sent old Sandor Clegane running for the hills did not; he sat on the beach, rolling his eyes at Lannister’s mention of using a turkey baster to inseminate Sansa with Nate’s… ugh… but somewhere just underneath the surface a little flame was lit. Unsorted images flashed through his mind. Teaching a dark-haired boy how to ride a bike. Watching Sansa hold a baby to her breast. Holding Sansa’s hand while she pushed with all her might to bring their child into the world. Walking an undoubtedly tall and beautiful daughter down the aisle (after threatening life and limb of her groom should he ever hurt her). He and Jaime cheering on their sons at a Little League game. Nate surrounded by a horde of children at an oversized coffee table containing every art supply known to man. Aunt Cersei and Uncle Bronn stopping by to spoil their nieces and nephews and teach them the curse words even Sandor knew not to say around kids.

“Baby?” Sansa asked quietly as she stroked his jawline.

He smiled at her – a 100% smile this time, because she fucking deserved it, “Yeah, I’d be happy in that life. And not just because you’re in it… though that’s definitely a big reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this chapter pretty stream of consciousness, then when I re-read it I realized the latter part of it has a definite tone of finality. It is NOT the end, but if anyone wants off this train then this might be a good stopping point, especially if you like somewhat ambiguous endings...
> 
> But I have more I want to do, plots to explore, funny scenes I must put to paper, and I imagine this eventually ending with an epilogue for all ya'll that need something conclusive and definitive.
> 
> Not sure when the next chapter will post as I got an idea in my head, became obsessed with it, and crammed out 50K+ words. Not sure I'll post that fic now or wait until it's done. As a reader, I try not to read fics until they're complete, but I recognize other people have higher tolerance for WIPs than I do, so maybe I'll post some of it.


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